Roll like a stuntman
by Rosepeony
Summary: REVISED SUMMARY- Jane stays with Lisbon after being badly hurt in an 'accident' ...the effects of his injuries and obsession with Red John have him confused and scared to confide in Lisbon, so he goes to the team for help ... follow Jane's recovery, his volatile 'relationship' with Lisbon and find out just who is tainted red. Lots of humour, angst & sweetness CHAPTER 18 up!
1. Jumping to Oblivion

**So…. Disclaimers first …. I claim complete deniability for any ownership infringement …. Anyway I own practically nothing !**

**I'm going to own up here to being one of those annoying people who starts fics and doesn't finish them and for that I'm really sorry, my only excuse is that it's hard to maintain motivation when only your friends review !**

**I promise to try harder.**

**I hope some of you like this story. It came into my head while trying to get off to sleep. It kept me awake all night and has done ever since.**

**There should be a bit of everything ….mostly Jane , but lots of Lisbon, RJ, the team, a good amount of angst, hurt, comfort, humour and a healthy dose of blossoming but tentative Jisbon.**

**So here goes …..enjoy and please tell me if you want me to continue!**

Jane's whole body shook violently, recovering from the effort of hoisting himself onto the high stone sill. He paused to steady himself before swinging his wobbling legs over, very carefully, one at a time, to manoeuvre into position on the ledge without falling.

Clinging tightly to the frame with one white knuckled hand he searched for his cell phone, his hand quivering and uncertain and panic not helping his efficiency. At last he dragged the phone from it's usual pocket ….the first place he should have gone to …and pressed the first number on his speed dial.

Before hearing an answer he took as deep a breath as he could and, between short painful gasps began his message.

"Lisbon … " he wheezed, "… need help… now! … medics and fire … quick… please !"

Theresa only caught the last half of the garbled message, wedging her phone casually to take the incoming call, between chin and shoulder, while shoving the last manila folder of the day into the open drawer of her filing cabinet. If this was another case she would gladly throttle the caller!

She slammed the drawer abruptly and hurriedly transferred the cell to her hand when she heard her consultant's unmistakable voice and realised it was not the tone she was expecting from him. Even when he was in trouble Jane usually managed to put up some kind of front.

Her knees turned immediately to jelly and back to solid again before she went back into calm cop mode.

This was real. Jane was in a mess!

"Jane, calm down. Try to slow your breathing (_she was really saying this to the master of control_?). I can't understand you. Where are you ?" she kept her voice even, though her insides were not.

Lisbon was already picking up her keys and jacket, alarmed by the desperation in her consultant's usually silky voice and his obvious struggle to speak. She had no idea what was going on … but it was bad … very bad.

The elevator had already reached ground level before she had managed do decipher a clear message from the breathy wheezing and coughing punctuated by worrying periods of near silence, except for faint rustling, crackling and strange roaring sounds in the background.

Waves of nauseating dizziness fogging his brain, Jane blinked frantically in a vain attempt to clear his mind. He struggled to find the words to answer coherently.

"Where are you Jane?" Lisbon repeated, puffing as she charged across the lot to her car,wishing it was not parked in the furthest spot available, because she had unusually arrived late today …and,no, she hadn't told anybody why.

She vowed never to be late again!

"O…old …st…stone … house … big one…" she managed to make out from Jane's strangled words.

"Where Jane? What street ?" she tried her best to be patient, really she did, but she needed information. Quickly.

"Out past the …zoo… Lissss…" he panted even more faintly.

There was a scrabbling sound followed by a thud and the signal abruptly cut out.

Silence.

_Damn! _

With the tenuous contact between them severed Lisbon's mind began to race immediately, not being able to hear him breathing or even the tiniest sign of life, her fear for his safety choked her own breaths. If she could hear him she could believe he was OK. Or would be.

Her mind rushed in circles trying to interpret the significance of the sounds, but it was blindingly obvious that she needed to act quickly and fearing that Jane was in immediate danger, she was already turning the key in the ignition and speed dialling Cho before buckling her seat belt.

"Pick up Cho! Now!" She yelled.

Foot already to the floor, cell in one hand, she was unafraid to push the powerful vehicle to it's limits using only her free hand. When a life was in danger, especially one of her own, and more especially Jane's, no one could match Theresa Lisbon for bravery behind the wheel.

"Boss ?" the answer soon came. "What's wrong?"

"Cho! Jane's in trouble. I'm on my way. Get vanPelt to trace his phone and get EMTs and fire department there stat," she yelled without thinking.

But when the situation required calm, training was a wonderful thing, and Cho's businesslike timbre was always a leveller.

Lisbon clicked automatically back into work mode; this was just another call to just another crime scene for the purposes of the conversation. Calm efficiency was the only way to go. She could panic later. She would not let herself fall pray to stereotypical feminine weakness just because it was her best friend who had been on the other end of that call.

"OK Boss," her loyal second in command continued in his usual unflustered manner. "You want me and Rigs there?"

"Yeah. Please," she told him. "You come but don't worry Rigsby, its late. Oh, and let me know the location as soon as you have it. It's somewhere out beyond the zoo, but he was gabbling, sounded confused… I have a bad feeling Cho…"

Her voice tailed off, worry welling up at the recollection of the mangled sound of Jane's words, punctuated as they were by an agonizing wheezy cough and laden with a fear so strong that it had fairly oozed from her cell and chilled her to the marrow.

"Thanks Kimball" she said quietly.

"Don't worry. We'll get there as soon as we can. He'll be fine."

Cho wasn't so sure, but he wasn't as insensitive as he appeared and Lisbon was, as Jane had to keep reminding her, no award winning actress. She couldn't hide her dread from Cho anymore than she could beat Jane at poker.

Slightly reassured she threw the phone down on the seat beside her and pushed her body closer to the wheel as if to impel the vehicle forward more quickly, fuelled by determination, hope and the thought of life without Jane.

xx

Jane's phone slipped from his trembling grasp and he watched open mouthed and helpless as it landed beneath him, the sound of that landing barely audible above the crackling of the roaring flames at his back.

He lurched forward, instinctively grabbing at the thin air of a grey October day, in an attempt to retrieve his lifeline to safety as it plummeted. He was met with swirling images of the ground, which he knew to be solid, sweeping up to meet his startled face like the dark waves of an angry green sea.

Finding strength which he didn't know he possessed, Jane managed to regain enough balance to hang on to the cold, hard granite of the window surround and halt his premature descent.

He knew that descent was inevitable, but when it came, it would have to be controlled.

He also knew it had to be very soon.

Acrid black smoke was now swirling past him into the fast approaching dusk, making sure to fill his lungs with it's suffocating poison on it's way out to turn the sky a shade darker.

The heat from the advancing flames scorched his back, even through his jacket and vest and he felt sure he could detect the distinctive odour of singed hair … his hair!

He had to do it now.

Now or never.

Or never …

and

death…

But his throbbing head spun like a top and he couldn't be sure what was real … how near was the ground… was it grass or concrete… what floor was he on…

... was the whole place really bucking and swaying like that … or was it him …?

...and he couldn't breathe...

... couldn't think...

Shuffling his butt to the edge of the icy sill, strangely icy given the circumstances, it's stoney surface scraping painfully through the seat of his pants, he tried to suck in a breath full of courage and think positive.

A childhood rhyme flitted into his confusion. A distraction. A subconscious delaying tactic …

_The boy stood on the burning bridge … no… deck… no..._

_Oh, just do it Jane ! Man up!_

_ … bend the knees to cushion the impact …tuck your head in …one shoulder under first …right one, since you're right handed,_

_ …and roll…_

_... like in the movies…_

_... a stuntman!_

… _Geronimooooooooooooooo ... !_

He slipped his behind off the sill and prayed to St. Teresa.

xx

The ground seemed closer than he had expected.

It arrived sooner than he thought.

It was harder.

Very much harder.

His ankles buckled.

He heard the cracks.

He bent his knees, but he still heard the snaps.

He tried to roll … but the ground was too fast for him. It came up to meet him before he had a chance.

It surged up through his body in one huge jolt and emerged as a primeval scream that pierced the night sky and carried right on up to the heavens, reverberating his pain, making the world aware of his agony.

Red hot needles shot through his limbs and just kept coming, over and over and over until his body pitched forward and slammed his face into the cold gravely earth and he was delivered into the blessed oblivion of unconsciousness.

It took all of two seconds.

Then silence.

Blessed silence.


	2. Did you think you were a superhero?

**First of all can I thank all those of you who reviewed and followed chapter one, it really means more to me than you realize! I will get round to personal thanks as we go on but thought getting on with the story more important.**

**Yes, there will be humour but obviously that first chapter wasn't exactly the place for levity, so stick with me to see the ups and downs, the angst and the funny side of Jane's situation.**

**My apologies in advance to any medical professionals among you….. I have no idea if what I've written is any sense or not but I just couldn't face spending time doing research and it seemed pretty logical to me.**

* * *

Telltale billowing grey smoke soon made its foreboding presence known like a dark portent of doom oozing out between the rooftops and the slight but unmistakeable smell creeping through the air vents beckoned Lisbon unerringly closer to the scene.

She could already hear the plaintive wail of sirens in the distance when she was still, she estimated, some 5 minutes out.

Cho's call came quickly.

"Boss, it looks like it's the old Robinson place out at the end of Greystoke Drive," he told her. "Been empty for years."

Lisbon interrupted him in her impatience,

"OK. I can see it from here. Nearly there. Thanks Cho. You on the way?" she rattled off thoughts automatically, eyes fixed on the road and the red glow that now began to tint the evening sky, her mind preoccupied by rolling scenarios of what might await her.

It was like watching a movie teaser. Flashes of Jane. Coming to a screen near you.

Jane lying crumpled on the ground.

Jane calling her name.

Jane covered by a blanket.

Still and …..dead.

"Boss! You still there?" came Cho's ever calm voice, "VanPelt and I'll be there in ten. A neighbour called it in to 911 so there'll be help on scene well ahead of us." he explained.

Then, after a pause. "Don't worry Boss, Jane has at least nine lives. He hasn't used half of them yet".

Cho's words were by nature spare but always well chosen, there was no one Lisbon would rather have at her back in an emergency and she was glad to hear his reassurance, whether she could allow herself to believe it could be true or not.

"Thanks Cho, but I think he just used another one," she cursed herself silently for sounding so hopeless, then said firmly, "I'll meet you there."

xx

The SUV screeched to a halt on the damp tarmac alongside several fire tenders and EMT vehicles.

The slippery buckle fastening Lisbon's seatbelt refused to yield to her frantic fingers as they panicked to release it and she practically tumbled out onto the ground, cursing again as she gathered herself.

Scrambling to her feet, leaving the car door swinging open, she raced across the lawn, once green and pristine, now unmown, patchy and uncared for. It was only a distance of about seventy metres to the building but her legs could not carry her fast enough.

Flames were already licking around the upper floor windows of the large rambling house, like the hot fiery tongues of fairytale dragons. Dense black smoke belched up into the air from the roof, which was by now well alight. Plumes of water, like streams of silver, shot from fire hoses into the windows and arched up over the top of the building mixing clouds of hissing white steam with the black of the choking smoke.

But the focus of Lisbon's attention lay, not with the raging fire, but centred in a group of people gathered in a small active huddle on the thin remains of the grass in front of the burning house.

Medics worked swiftly but efficiently on a lone figure on the ground and just as she came close she saw them carefully lift the still body onto a waiting gurney.

She could see the tubes, fluid drip bags and oxygen cylinder and she could see his legs both encased in inflatable splints and draped with a scarlet blanket. She could see the two large blocks of pvc covered foam strapped to and carefully immobilizing his head.

She couldn't see whose the body was, but she knew.

The activity around the prone figure was intense and as she rushed to approach with a mix of trepidation and foreboding, Lisbon felt strangely useless and unnecessary, superfluous even.

It was Jane ... she knew ... and she was helpless.

She slipped in alongside the uniforms as they hurriedly began to push the gurney towards the waiting ambulance and finally she got close enough to confirm her worst fears.

She could hardly see his face, blackened as it was by smoke and covered with an oxygen mask, but there was no mistaking the tufts of dirty blond hair that still poked their way out to greet her, calling ...

_its me Theresa I'm here!_

She wrenched her badge from her pocket and flashed it in front of the young dark haired paramedic at her side.

"Is he going to be OK?" she begged, not sounding at all like a cop, "I'm his friend."

She slipped her hand under the blanket, searching for his, at the same time trying to keep step with the gurney. When she found it his fingers felt cold and limp. She squeezed. As much for her own comfort as for his.

"Hope so Miss," the young man replied. "It's a good thing he was unconscious though. We've done what we can at the scene, but his legs are a mess."

Lisbon gave Jane's hand another gentle squeeze and whispered close to his face,

"Patrick, it's Theresa. Can you hear me?"

She thought she saw his eyelids flutter, then they opened a crack and his lips turned up ever so slightly under the mask before he drifted off again.

"Miss."

She felt someone tap her shoulder cautiously. "Sorry, we have to go now. You can follow. We're taking him to Sac Gen. I'm sure they'll let you in, what with your badge and all. Don't you worry, we'll take good care of him."

The man must have been young enough to be her son, but he wrapped a gentle arm around her shoulder for the briefest of moments and gave her a consoling smile.

"It's best for him if we go now." He repeated quietly.

xx

The second CBI vehicle slewed to a halt just as the ambulance was pulling away, blue lights flashing and sirens squealing.

Grace vanPelt leapt from the car almost before it had stopped, immediately scanning the scene to find her superior officer.

Lisbon's car was here but she couldn't spot her friend - until she walked around to the drivers side to see her sitting, head in hands, sideways on the seat with her legs swung out on the ground.

"Boss. Are you OK?" VanPelt questioned, placing a comforting arm around the older woman's shoulders and trying to look into her eyes.

Lisbon slowly lifted her head.

"Oh… yes Grace. Fine. I just needed to sit down for a bit."

She looked pale and Grace could feel her shivering from cold and shock. The remains of a few tears smudged her cheeks.

"Was it Jane in that ambulance?"

"Yes" came the only reply.

"OK, Boss. Cho's just gone to check out the situation then we'll decide what to do. You stay here for a minute and I'll be back."

She waited for a response and after a bit Lisbon straightened up but remained seated. Rubbing her face vigorously with her hands as if to snap herself back to reality she turned to her colleague, taking a steadying deep breath as she did so.

"Thanks Grace, I'm good now. You go with Cho and find out what you can. See what the fire people have to say and see if any neighbours saw anything. I'm going to head on over to the hospital now. You catch me there when you're done and we'll see where we're at."

She rose tiredly, brushed herself down and turned to go, but van Pelt called after her.

"Boss… is he alright ?

"Oh Grace, I'm so sorry. I didn't think."

Lisbon's expression said all Grace needed to see as she slowly turned back around, trying to lift her slumped shoulders, but her pale face all fear and confusion and desperate hopefulness.

"I don't really know." she said quietly. "It looks bad though. His legs are smashed and …I don't know… but he did open his eyes."

"I must go" she added, turning quickly on her heels once more.

xx

Patrick Jane didn't have to open his eyes to know exactly where he was. He didn't think he could open them anyway. And he wasn't even sure if he was thinking at all.

But the signs were unmistakeable.

A general level of quiet hubbub, voices talking earnestly, carefully, with falsely sympathetic tones and sincerely sympathetic ones. Anxious voices. Tearful voices. Technical phrases rattled off, then explained in layman's terms by world weary workers.

The rolling of rubber wheels and the irregular screech of wonky, badly maintained wheels.

The rustle and squeak of bottoms on plastic chairs.

The regular beeping of multiple machines and the occasional buzzer or detached voice echoing down the long halls from a tannoy.

The overbearing smell of disinfectant, and coffee and cleanliness … it was the clean he found most disconcerting … clinical… soulless.

He knew where he was.

Above the general hum he thought he could hear one voice, separate and familiar and sweet and the one voice he needed to hear.

xx

"We've taken some quick X-rays of the legs as a matter of urgency, so that we can address that area first … let me show you,"

The serious, rather anonymous middle aged emergency doctor held up two sheets of film to allow the light to shine through them.

Theresa Lisbon didn't really pay too much attention. She was too busy feeling angry at the man, whose name tag announced him as Dr Brownloe.

He had not even bothered to introduce himself to her and here he was referring to Jane like he was just another job.

_... that's Patrick Jane and those are not 'the legs', they're his legs, Patrick's legs ..._

"See … " he pointed, "bi-lateral tib and fib, clean breaks, but badly displaced. Both ankles dislocated and a nasty break in one."

Dr Brownloe looked down from his films and suddenly softened, noticing the woman's face a mixture of anxiety and rising frustration. He mentally admonished himself for being so absorbed in the technicalities of the job he loved that he often forgot to see the bigger picture.

"Would you like to see him briefly? he asked her kindly. "Then we can talk about what needs to be done."

He ushered Lisbon closer to the mass of tubes, wires and machinery surrounding the trolley and pulled up a chair for her.

"Two minutes. OK?" he told her.

She sat quietly and looked for a moment, almost scared to touch him. He looked the same as when they had left the burning house; deathly pale under the blackness of smoke, his chest rising shallowly in irregular wheezy spasms, his eyes closed.

His hand lay lifeless at his side, those long magical fingers that she loved so much, so active, always moving and now so still.

She took that hand in hers, stroking the back of it with her fingers and she spoke his name quietly, slowly, clearly, as if clarity would help him hear her.

"Patrick," she willed him to answer, "Patrick, its me."

He felt the cool softness of a gentle hand on his and instantly knew it's owner.

His next breath seemed to come a little easier now that he knew she was there.

The pain that enveloped his body subsided for a second or two.

"Lisbon."

He tried to give her a little smile but the mask covering his face disguised his feeble effort and he couldn't open his eyes because of the drums that were beating incessantly inside his head. He didn't think she could hear him so he mustered as much strength as he could and flailed his other hand around in the air, causing a flurry of wires to jostle and slip as he tried to reach the offending mask.

Gently moving the mask down from Jane's mouth and nose, Lisbon gave him the warmest smile she could.

"Hello Jane"

He still didn't open his eyes, but his mouth slid wider in reciprocation. Hearing her smile was enough.

She was silent for a moment, then the relief of hearing his voice was washed away and her worry took over.

"God Jane, what did you do?"

She supposed it was a rhetorical question since it was, in part, obvious what had happened, but shock and fear are powerful emotions, skilled at drawing inappropriate remarks from the most level headed of people. In any case she was feeling anything but level headed.

"I…jumped… Lisbon," he whispered, in between breaths.

"Jane! It was a second floor window! Did you think you were a super hero?"

It was difficult to hide her frustration.

"But I did the… roly-poly… thing …"

"The roly-poly thing?" she puzzled.

"Like…a stunt…man" his face screwed up as he began to get stressed and a cold sweat shimmered wet on his ghostly grey skin.

"Oh …" she was still no wiser.

"Didn't … work… did …it ?

She could hardly make out the words.

"No Jane, I don't think it did."

All at once overwhelming sadness for her broken friend hit her, she raised her hand to stroke the sweat matted curls from his forehead and carefully replaced the mask that helped him to breathe.

"But I do think you were very, very brave," she whispered close to his ear.

Right on cue Dr Brownloe was at her side. Maybe he'd been standing there for some time. She didn't know.

"Miss Lisbon, shall we take a seat over here", he invited, leading her to a more private area and sitting down beside her.

Placing his notes in his lap, he folded his hands over them and looked her straight in the eyes.

Lisbon felt her confidence in the man growing.

"We've done all the preliminary checks on Mr Jane. Would you like me to go through everything with you?" he began.

"Of course. I need to be involved. I'm his best friend. He has no relatives near, that we know of."

"I explained to you about the broken bones. There's also a good deal of soft tissue damage and stress injury to the joints, jarring and severe bruising and tearing. Then we move up to a couple of cracked ribs and severe bruising to the torso and right shoulder. He appears to have inhaled a great deal of smoke, something which is concerning us at the moment. His sats are very much lower than we would like. And then there is the head injury … not consistent with the fall. All his other injuries indicate that Mr. Jane fell forward, but he has a nasty contusion on the back of his head, and that's something else to be concerned about, since he's been drifting in and out of consciousness."

At last the doctor paused and examined Lisbon's face to gauge if she had understood the implications of what he was telling her.

Lisbon had listened as attentively as she could, but it was hard to drag her mind away from worrying and as each new problem was added to the list her worry increased.

"Shall I go on?" he asked.

She nodded solemnly.

"Mr Jane's case presents something of a problem because we would normally sort out breaks of this number and severity under anaesthetic, but I'm not happy to do that while his breathing is so poor, his lungs simply aren't able to absorb enough oxygen at the moment. And then there's the problem of his level of consciousness, I need to investigate that further."

"I see…"

Lisbon took a while to think about what the man had said. "So what do you propose to do? Surely the pain will be too much to bear. Without anaesthetic I mean."

..._and poor Jane's such a weakling when it comes to pain…_

Lisbon's alarm was written all over her face, like the open book Jane always said she was, and Dr Brownloe was an avid and perceptive reader of faces. He did his most professional best to allay her fears.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to put him through that. What we will do is this," he started to explain.

"Mr. Jane will be taken down for a scan to check for anything we've missed and to see if there's anything to concern us regarding the head injury and we'll get some better pictures while we're there. Then we'll get him settled and as comfortable as possible for a few hours. Hopefully his lungs will begin to clear and the oxygen therapy will bring his sats up enough to make anaesthesia an option… I don't want to intubate him if I can help it as it's best his lungs clear themselves."

He paused and Lisbon instinctively knew there was more to come. She simply waited and listened, staring at the name on the label of the doctor's folder.

"Miss Lisbon ," he continued, carefully observing the obviously concerned woman's reaction, "There's just one thing we need to do before your friend can go down for his scans and I'd be grateful if you'd help me with it."

He paused for a moment. "He trusts you doesn't he, I can see that."

Lisbon's heart froze. Her mind raced thinking of what horrible possibilities the man was referring to.

The experienced doctor saw the terror in her eyes and the tremble of her hands, as they fiddled nervously with her car keys, absently removing them from her pocket only to return them again and again.

"Oh, you mustn't be afraid," he assured her. "But it's going to be extremely painful, so I think it would be good if you were there to help him through. Come with me."

His tone softened from clinical to avuncular and Lisbon thought absently that he reminded her of Minelli.

Lisbon dutifully followed the doctor back to her consultant's bedside.

They stood at Jane's feet, Lisbon wondering if he was aware that she had returned.

The doctor pulled back the light cover that had been loosely draped over Jane's lower half and watched her face as she took in the sad sight before her.

Those beautiful feet, as elegant as his hands, were swollen, red, black and blue, his slender ankles bloated to twice their size and contorted into the most unnatural shapes.

Her hand sprung up to catch the gasp that escaped her mouth and she half turned away, shaking her head.

"I'm sorry. It's not as bad as it looks." Dr Brownloe told her, hoping his practiced platitudes sounded more convincing than they always felt.

"They did a very good job at the scene to straighten things out as best they could, but we can't leave these dislocations any longer, and once they're popped back in he'll be a little more comfortable," he explained, looking her straight in the eye. "I'm going to give Mr Jane something stronger for the pain, then I want you to take hold of his hand and help him through that pain, because it's still going to hurt terribly. Even though he's not altogether with us, it's going to hurt."

Lisbon nodded her assent and pulling herself straight and proud stood beside her friend.

She took his hand, hoping for some response, but getting none, and as she waited she couldn't help thinking how many times she had bellowed at him to be quiet when he was driving her insane with his constant and untimely interventions and observations.

Now she wished he was anything but quiet.

She wished he was dancing down the corridor spouting Confucius and Shakespeare.

Dr Brownloe pushed a syringe of 'something stronger for the pain' into the drip feed, quickly checked the machines monitoring his patient and flicked his tiny flashlight to and fro in Janes glassy eyes, holding each lid open to do so. Seeming satisfied he returned to the other end of the bed and gently but firmly grasped the first foot, quickly glancing in Lisbon's direction as he did so, confirming her readiness and offering much needed support.

It seemed to Lisbon that Jane was pretty much unconscious, but she thought she felt his hand wriggle just a little under her tense grip, so she lent forward and softly told him.

"Good luck Patrick. Love you."


	3. Sunshine after Rain

**Thanks again for the reviews, faves, and follows for Chapter 2. And to all of you who've read but not reviewed I'd love to hear your comments. My apologies for the mysterious 'missing words' (thanks Katrina) it appears that posting wipes out names if you enter them in a style that the site doesn't like!**

**Here goes, Chapter 3, where we begin to learn more about what happened …. Or not!**

* * *

"Do you think she's alright?" the pretty red head turned her troubled face to her two colleagues, hoping for reassurance. "How did she sound to you?"

"She's just tired and worried," replied the shorter man, "It's nearly two in the morning. She just didn't want to talk on the phone."

He didn't see any reason to add to vanPelt's anxiety by allowing her to see that he too was worried.

"Yeah. She'd have called sooner if she needed us," chipped in Rigsby, trying to disguise the doubt in his voice and almost succeeding.

"But you know how she feels about him. And _you_ saw her at the scene Cho, I've not seen like that since …" vanPelt's words tailed off as the threesome turned the corner into the busy emergency waiting area and spotted their boss sitting quietly in the corner.

Lisbon didn't immediately notice them approaching. She sat, straight in her chair, knees clenched tightly together, staring intently down at her hands, which were even more tightly clenched.

Her face was pale, tense and solemn. Waiting, like a balloon full of tears, a dam ready to burst. To spill the flood of her emotions all around her.

VanPelt tentatively placed a hand on her bosses arm, "Boss ?"

"Oh! I'm sorry." Lisbon's head snapped up abruptly, "I didn't see you coming," she blurted out before recovering her composure to continue, her eyes searching the faces of each of her team.

"Rigsby, I didn't expect you to come, I thought you had Ben tonight?"

"Cho called boss. I took Ben to Sarah. She understands, sort of…"

Lisbon couldn't stop a sad but proud smile. They were truly a team. She was thankful for that at times like these, she didn't blame them for having reservations when Jane was involved in something dangerous or underhand, but they always stuck together in the end and their trust in her was unwavering. If she thought about it, it was their loyalty to Jane, who had led them down so many dangerous and questionable pathways in the name of justice or revenge, that amazed and impressed her most.

"I'm just waiting for the doctor to get back to me, then I think we should go to the cafeteria and have a coffee. We can talk there," she explained.

Her businesslike manner deliberately deflected the unasked question implicit in each pair of eyes that met hers.

"How is he Boss?" vanPelt asked cautiously.

Lisbon had been dreading that question, not because she was scared of breaking potentially bad news, after all she knew in her heart of hearts Jane was going to be fine, didn't she? But because she couldn't face telling them about all those horrible injuries.

She didn't want to picture the agony on his face, contorted in pain, his hand gripping hers so hard she thought her fingers would break, the relief she felt for him as the pain subsided, only to watch him be put through the same excruciating agony again. She had stood holding his hand as she watched him slipping away into unconsciousness once more, his face relaxing and his hand letting go its fearsome grasp on hers and she had been proud to help him.

But she had no desire to relive those moments.

Now she was just tired.

"How is he Boss? vanPelt repeated.

"It's complicated Grace," she tried to sound reassuring. "He has multiple injuries, mostly to his legs. He's gone for a scan to make sure there's nothing else. That's what we have to wait for. But I think he'll be fine."

She really didn't want to give any more detail.

She looked up at her two male team members, who were prowling up and down the length of the room impatiently.

"Hey, you two! You're making me nervous. Come and sit down. Shouldn't be too long."

She hoped.

The team sat in silence. Cho perfectly still. Rigsby twisting his watch back and forth on his wrist, occasionally examining the digital numbers as they changed. Lisbon somewhat more relaxed now that her team had arrived. And vanPelt casting sideways glances to check on her boss.

Dr Brownloe arrived only ten minutes later, a flurry of white coat flapping, stethoscope swinging and all jerky little steps as he tried to hurry without actually running. His expression was a mix of preoccupation and frustration, but as he rushed up to the group he relaxed into a smile.

"Ah, I see you have some support Miss Lisbon, that's good," he began breathlessly, "You'll forgive me if I'm brief? I have another emergency."

He paused again before continuing, "It's good news. The scans showed nothing else of any concern. Just what we expected. I'm confident that Mr Jane's struggle to regain full consciousness is just a combination of simple concussion and carbon monoxide poisoning from the smoke inhalation. We just need to give him a little time. His lungs are pretty furred up with the smoke, but again that's a matter of time and oxygen therapy."

The news was greeted with an audible round of relieved sighs and the sound of Rigsby muttering under his breath,

"Furred up, thought that was for car engines and tea kettles!"

"Unless you have any questions you'll have to excuse me, I have to dash," the doctor said and made to leave but turned back again. "Oh, I've had Mr Jane settled into a side room for monitoring and expect to be able to take him to theatre at about breakfast time, so I suggest you all go home and get some sleep. He won't be awake until at least mid morning."

Without waiting for a response, the doctor bustled off to his next patient, watched open mouthed by four very much more relaxed CBI employees.

Suddenly, Theresa, worried friend of Patrick Jane became Agent Lisbon, boss and cop.

"OK, let's go get a coffee and see what we've got."

She turned and led the way briskly down the corridor, leaving her subordinates scurrying to catch up.

xx

"Rigsby, you get drinks, since you weren't at the scene. You know what everybody wants. I'll have mine strong, long, black and sweet." Lisbon barked out as she led her team to a vacant table and dropped into another uncomfortable plastic chair.

She was eager to get going.

"Anything at the scene Cho?"

"Very little Boss. The neighbours weren't much use. Only Jane's car was seen arriving, at about 9.30. The house is pretty well camouflaged from the road, entrances and windows not visible unless you go onto the drive. Nobody heard anything until a Mr Ferdinand spotted the fire at about 10.45, by which time it was well alight."

Lisbon took out her cell and found her call records, "So," she confirmed. "Jane called me at 10.23. Then I heard what I assume was his phone being dropped and I think we can also assume that he jumped straight after."

Cho looked at his notes, "Yes Boss, Mr Ferdinand called 911, the call was logged at 10.46. He went to investigate and found Jane already on the ground."

"Did he say if Jane was conscious?"

"He was 'out of it', to quote Ferdinand."

Lisbon took a deep breath and then let it go slowly, "Thank God…" she said quietly.

Rigsby returned with the drinks and a plate of sandwiches.

"Best they could do at this time of night," he announced to an apathetic audience.

"What about the fire guys ?"Lisbon enquired again of Cho, eager to get back to business.

"They weren't able to enter the building, so I suggest Rigs and I go back in the morning, see if their investigation guys turned anything up. There was no other vehicle around so they had no reason to suspect anyone else was in the building."

Cho looked over to the team's arson expert, assuming that his plan had his bosses approval.

Both Rigsby and Lisbon nodded their agreement.

"I did a pretty thorough search of the ground around the entrances and the front of the house," vanPelt offered, wishing she had more, "I found Jane's phone in the bushes just near to where he fell. I had a look at his calls and messages for the last couple of days."

She looked over to Lisbon and said sadly, "Sorry. Nothing except a call to order pizza yesterday and his call to you last night."

"Never mind guys, not your fault." her boss consoled her, then added rather ruefully, "What do we expect when Jane's involved?"

Lisbon buried her face in her hands briefly, more out of fatigue than anything, before continuing.

"We're just going to have to wait til we can talk to Jane," she observed to no one in particular, taking her hands down to shove them in her pockets and leaving her face looking dejectedly at her feet under the table.

"Hopefully tomorrow."

She levered herself up wearily and pushed back her seat making it scrape noisily on the hard floor, "OK let's all go get some sleep. Thanks guys, I'll phone you in the morning and I'll let you know if I hear any more news about Jane in the meantime."

"Rigsby, do you want to take the rest of those sandwiches?"

The plate was still almost full.

xx

"Mr Jane…"

"Mr Jane…"

"Patrick…"

"Can you hear me…"

"Can you open your eyes for me Sweetie…"

Somewhere up above the clouds inside his head, he could hear the voice of an angel calling to him, it was kind and gentle and made him want to see what an angel actually looked like, he couldn't remember having seen one before, at least he didn't think so. So he slowly pushed an eye lid up and then tried the other one. He blinked to clear the swirling mist and persuade his eyes to focus again.

"Hello Mr Jane" the angel smiled.

She was round faced and young, with laughing blue eyes and a wavy blond bob.

He closed his eyes for a second or two then tried again, blinking furiously and peering at the blue plastic name badge pinned to her soft round bosom, he couldn't make out any of the letters.

She had a neat feminine figure, his subconscious couldn't help noticing.

"I'm Cindy," she said, seeing his unfocused attempt to discover her name.

He tried to smile, but supposed it wasn't even approaching one of his best.

"Don't worry", she reassured him. "You're going to feel a bit disorientated for a while. Close your eyes for a bit, I'll go tell the doctor you're awake. He'll be pleased. Then I'll get you a drink. I expect you'll be thirsty."

"Cindy," he said looking sleepily at the angel from under half closed lids, "Where's Lisbon?"

"Oh…"

She thought for a bit.

"I think Lisbon's in Portugal Mr Jane."

"OK…"

... _that's strange ..._

He let his eyes close again and let his mind wander. It was all it could do.

Before he had time to try figuring out why Lisbon would possibly have suddenly taken herself off to Portugal, he felt a gentle hand touch his wrist.

"Here I've got you some nice cold water. I'll just crank up the bed for you to make it easier."

He was suddenly aware of a subtle whirring sound and felt his head gradually rising from the horizontal. The movement instantly made his senses swim a little.

Cindy gently put a hand behind his head and helped him lift it forward to meet the straw poking out of the lidded plastic cup she held to his mouth with her other hand.

_Not very dignified!_

"Your throat will be dry after the anaesthetic, but you must only sip a little bit and take it slowly, it's common to feel nauseous too," she instructed him.

_She's not wrong! _he realised after only a few sips.

As soon as his head lay back on the pillow, telltale queasy feelings started to stir and tiny beads of cold sweat proceeded to form on his forehead. The queasiness soon built into full blown spasms and Cindy calmly positioned a bowl to recapture the rejected water.

It was then that Jane realised how much every part of his body hurt. The lurching in his stomach set off a chain reaction and he broke into a fit of tight wheezy coughing, which caused a series of needle like pains in his ribs, stopping him from breathing. A tidal wave surged up to splash around in his head, throwing rocks against his brain. Then it retreated and gained speed to hurl itself through his legs and thrusting redhot pokers down to his feet, firing sparks of white heat into his bones as it went.

Jane's face screwed up in an involuntary grimace and he waited for the pain to subside.

When at last he had relaxed back into his pillows Cindy gently wiped his face with a cool cloth, cleaning away the traces of soot stained sputum from his nose and mouth, and helping to sooth the tension from his features.

He was just thinking about daring to unscrew his eyes when the door handle turned and he heard someone enter.

"Jane."

"Lisbon"

He searched for a little smile and found he had no trouble in letting it spread slowly over his face when he opened his eyes to meet hers.

Relief shoved away the clouds that her face had borne and the sun shone back at him.

_"Aaahhhh! …Lisbon ! I get it …" _thought Cindy and left the room in search of Dr Brownloe.


	4. A Pink Teacup

**A big thank you to all my reviewers and followers for sticking with me thus far. **

**Hopefully I'll manage to make this a chapter with something to keep you wanting more. As I'm going off to La Belle France for ten days there will be a two week gap til the next update, but if CBS can do it so can I!**

**Enjoy …..hopefully!**

* * *

"Hey," she greeted him.

It was so good to be able to see his face at last. The ugly mask that had been delivering oxygen and had thrust an albeit necessary barrier between them before was now replaced by an altogether more subtle and less threatening transparent plastic tube which gently supplied Jane with the extra help he needed.

"It's good to see you looking a little better," she said, sliding into the chair beside his bed and giving his hand an affectionate squeeze.

"I was worse?"

A faintly surprised look replaced the weak smile that was struggling to stay for Lisbon's sake, before Jane's face fell slowly to a look of disappointment and his hand shrunk away slightly from her touch.

He looked away and paused for a few moments, eventually reconnecting with a searching look in his eyes.

"Where were you Lisbon?" he said quietly, somewhere between accusing and desperate.

Lisbon was somewhat shocked and it surprised her that she immediately felt a pang of guilt.

_For what? I couldn't have done anymore, even if I'd been here you would never have known…_

"I'm here now, aren't I ?" she replied rather tersely, withdrawing her hand quickly, embarrassed at what she perceived to be rejection. That mix of guilt and rejection made her unafraid to ask the questions that had to be asked, in spite of the inappropriate timing, so she just came straight to the point.

"Jane, we need to talk about what happened. If you're up to it," she continued, giving him no choice, not waiting for his reaction, "What were you doing at that house Jane? What made you go there?"

Jane sighed almost imperceptibly.

"There was a message. A text. On my phone," he said with a disinterested tone that made her regret steering the conversation this way so early.

Of course he was not ready.

His eyes now held nothing but detachment.

_You cow! You haven't even asked him how he feels…_

But she ploughed on.

"Who from Jane?"

"Do you really have to ask Lisbon," he said sharply, turning his head away and closing his eyes.

_You know who I mean…I shouldn't have to say it…I'm too tired…_

"Jane, there was no message on your phone. VanPelt found it in the bushes. No text. No voice mail. No calls. Nothing." She sounded cold but it was only fear.

_You bitch! Leave him alone…_

His head snapped back again and grimacing, he blinked rapidly as if to clear his vision, small beads of perspiration forming on his brow with the effort of thinking and moving and remembering.

He wished she would just stop, but now he needed to tell her, no use hiding it.

"There was... there **was** a text," he tried to shout, but produced only a weak croaky growl.

Lisbon felt a wave of shame for pushing him and so said nothing.

"It **was **Red John," he added tiredly and closing his eyes, turned away from her again.

Lisbon noticed his hands clenching; evidence of the pain he wouldn't allow his face to show her.

"OK Jane, don't worry about it now. We'll talk about it later," she backtracked quickly, noticing the warning increase in noise emitted by the machines around the bed.

She sat quietly for a few minutes, listening to the rhythm of Jane's monitors settle back down and watching the jerky rise and fall of his chest as he began to calm. She really could have handled that interrogation better, she berated herself. Why did she have to turn it into an interrogation? She wondered why after all these years she was letting him get to her in more and more irrational ways. Then she told herself she was just being silly. Just a reaction to the worry of so nearly losing him.

After a bit, the tension dissolved from his face somewhat, he turned back to face her once again and slowly reached out a hand to touch hers.

"Lisbon, I'd give anything for a cup of tea," he whispered.

Suddenly she felt forgiven.

She smiled at Jane's amazing ability to turn from darkness into light at the flick of a switch. She thanked god for that switch. It was what had kept him going through all the dark days. At least as far as the rest of the world was concerned. For him …even she could only hope. Who really knew what was going on inside that handsome head, behind that beguiling smile when the switch was thrown to light.

"Jane, I'm not so sure tea's such a good idea. That nurse just told me you couldn't keep water down a few minutes ago. Maybe just try another sip of water first. Before you try tea."

"Meh! What do nurses know !" he smiled the pretty please, puppy dog eyes smile, but only a half one.

"OK then," she promised him, "I'll see what I can do."

As she rose from her seat, the same nurse came rushing into the room. Blonde and bubbly and young.

" I'm so sorry Miss Lisbon. We had another emergency. Dr Brownloe will be in to check Mr Jane over in two minutes. Is there anything I can get you?"

"Oh, Lisbon, this Cindy. I think she's an angel, at least I thought so when I first saw her."

Jane had immediately recognised her voice and turned slightly to greet her with his eyes. He had recovered a little and was now in flirt mode, maybe only firing on two cylinders and very short on gas, but to see an iota of the real Jane charm offensive warmed Lisbon's heart.

"Cindy, you'll let me have a cup of tea won't you?" he crooned. "I promise I'll try to keep it inside and even if I don't I wont complain."

Lisbon caught Cindy's eye before she could answer and quickly rose to lead her back to the door.

"Back in a minute Jane," she assured him.

Then, safely out of earshot and the view of his prying eyes she put the nurse wise to her consultant's eccentric addiction.

"Cindy, I know tea's probably not a good idea right now, but his tea habit is like a comfort blanket, it helps him through the bad times".

Cindy looked a little doubtful, but Lisbon had already decided that Jane was going to have his tea, so she was determined.

"I know one thing that will make him very happy. Do you have a china tea cup?"

"Well it's not normal to serve patients drinks in non disposable cups, and I really wouldn't advise tea at all ... ," Cindy glanced back over her shoulder at the dozing Svengali with his secret smile, "... but as it's for Mr Jane … I have a nice mug in my locker."

She averted her eyes briefly and her cheeks reddened a bit, then she added warmly, "You go back in and sit with him and I'll be back in two ticks."

Lisbon had to allow herself a wry smile at the thought that her consultant had charmed his 'angel' within barely an hour of consciousness,

... '_as it's for Mr Jane' ... Really! ... the spell that man could cast… and don't count yourself as immune, Theresa Lisbon!_

Lisbon had hardly resumed her seat at Jane's side when the door opened again and in came the habitually flustered Dr Brownloe; all clipboards and swinging stethoscope.

The more she saw of this man the more he reminded her of Minelli and consequently the more she liked him.

"Ahhhhh, Miss Lisbon. Glad to see you're here," he strode over and shook her hand with the warmth of an old friend, then pivoted to address Jane.

"I'm sorry not to have been here when you woke Mr Jane. You know how it is."

He cast an experienced eye over the charts hooked on the end of the bed and briefly checked the array of displays on the machines before directing his attention again to his patient.

"How are we feeling? Do you have much pain at the moment?"

Jane gave the man a withering look.

_... typical doctor speak, patronise the poor helpless patient, ... 'how are __**we **__feeling?' How the hell do you think I'm feeling...! _

_ ...I feel like crap!_

Instead he said, "Not too bad, apart from the bongos in my head, the way people keep moving around in front of my eyes when I try talk to them, the other people standing on my chest and the throbbing in my legs. I'm fine. Never better."

_...Gosh ... that was a long speech, ... regretting that, ... need to rest, ... am I rambling?_

"Well let's have a look, shall we." Dr Brownloe raised the head end of the bed a little more. "Then we can get you something for the pain."

The doctor took a small flashlight from his pocket and made Jane follow the beam as it flashed from one side to the other and back again.

Jane found it a little confusing but he did his level best to comply, although it made him feel sick again.

"Hmmm, still a little sluggish, but nothing to worry about. Now just lean forward for me and we'll listen to your chest. Miss Lisbon will you just support Mr Jane from your side, please. That's it."

It was horrible, Jane felt as if his chest was being crushed and could swear a pygmy tribe was attacking his right side with their nasty little spears.

"Take a deep breath for me if you can."

He tried his best.

_I can't. Not deep anyway._

"Now cough."

Jane coughed. In fact he'd been coughing off and on since he'd woken and it was making him miserable. He didn't seem able to do it properly. But he tried again and it exhausted him. He sank back onto the pillows and gave Lisbon a wan smile. She took his hand again and he accepted it gratefully this time.

"Good," said the doctor at last and made his way to the foot of the bed.

Jane had not even thought about his legs, he just knew they hurt. He had not even noticed the frame that held the cover away from them. Dr Brownloe slowly drew back the cover and Jane peered down to see two bulky white logs and two sets of perky pink toes.

"Oooooh toes! Are they mine?" he mumbled absently.

"They certainly are Mr Jane. And I must say I'm very pleased with the colour. Could you try to wiggle them for me?"

Jane obliged. It felt very odd, sort of detached and it caused an unpleasant pulse of pain that rippled down his legs and into his feet and took ages to subside to it's previous almost bearable level.

"Has Miss Lisbon talked to you about your injuries," the doctor asked as he pulled a chair up to sit next to Lisbon.

She shook her head and answered for him, "There hasn't been an appropriate time yet. We haven't really had much time to talk and I thought you could explain better…"

In truth she didn't particularly relish the thought of that conversation. You could never tell how Jane was going to react, whether he would take it all in his stride and brush it off with a wave of the hand and a 'Meh, a few weeks off my feet and I'll be dancing again' or whether he would sink into one of his self pitying depressions and throw his toys out of the pram when anyone came near him.

"OK then. I'll keep it brief. No need for details." In any case, the doctor thought, Jane was looking very weary and probably wouldn't be able to take in too much technical information.

He was right. Jane had had enough, so he just listened and said nothing but a quiet "Thanks."

Lisbon found herself daydreaming, wondering where the lovely 'angel' Cindy had got to with that cup of tea, when she suddenly realised she too should be listening to what Dr Brownloe had to say if she were to help Jane in his recovery. She had already resigned herself to the fact that there was no one else to take on that role. And then she had told herself that she was being cruel and untruthful. She wanted to help him. How could she not.

_How can you not?_

She tore her gaze away from Jane who had closed his eyes and whose face she noted was beginning to take on an even more grey hue and she sternly erased the bizarrely dreamy look from her own eyes.

"… so these are only temporary casts to immobilize your legs until some of the swelling goes down. Then we can give you some much neater new ones and if everything else progresses well we can send you home. I'm pleased with your progress generally, but as I explained to you, you must try to keep on coughing to get rid of all that rubbish in your chest. It will hurt, but I promise you'll soon feel much better."

Consultation over, Dr Brownloe scribbled something on Jane's chart and hung it back in it's place. He smiled his goodbyes and left with a wave of his hand.

"See you in the morning Mr Jane, Miss Lisbon."

Cindy had been waiting patiently outside, and swept into the room before the door could swing shut behind the departing doctor. She proudly displayed a large pink china mug, decorated with multicoloured flowers and butterflies.

"I do hope you don't mind pink Mr Jane. It's the only one I have."

"Oh, no Cindy. That's terrific. He wont mind, will you Jane ? Honestly he'd drink tea out of a bucket, but he just appreciates fine china."

Lisbon answered for him again, unsure if he was still awake and debating what sort of trouble she would be in if he had dozed off and she had failed to notify him of the tea's arrival.

She need not have worried however, for the mere mention of the golden nectar immediately stirred the senses of the rather fed up tea addict. He was feeling rougher than he had since he had woken, but the thought of the warmly comforting liquid was so inviting that he found some renewed energy and began to struggle to find a comfortable position for tea drinking.

"Uhh, some help here Lisbon," he grunted before she had time to offer her help.

Together the two women propped Jane up and watched as he took the mug and enclosed it lovingly in both hands. He lifted it shakily and slowly to his lips as if performing some sacred ritual. He looked down into the vessel and blew gently over the surface then he closed his eyes and took a small sip. Cindy watched enraptured as he gradually took several more slow sips before lowering the cup to rest in his lap and letting his head fall back to the pillow. A soft relaxed smile grew and spread around his face and he let out a long slow breath.

"Thanks ladies" he said. "That was delicious."

But it was only the calm before the storm.

Within seconds of Lisbon retrieving the still half full mug from Jane's grasp for fear that it would spill, there was a plaintive moan and a wriggle. She saw a pained grimace and a sweaty grey mist envelope his face and soon spotted the ominous clenching of stomach muscles in turmoil.

"Tea coming up Lisbon!" he groaned.

Before she could pass the cup to the waiting Cindy and replace it with the bowl he had christened earlier, the front of his hospital gown was drenched in warm brown fluid and Jane was heaving desperately. Vomiting was soon overtaken by wracking coughs which seemed to come from the depths of his body and the bowl was filled with a mixture of thick strings of green and black mucus and sicked up tea.

Lisbon felt helpless. All she could do was support him in sitting forward, hold the bowl and rub his back sympathetically and wait. She felt useless and lonely. Even though Cindy was there.

Eventually the storm was over and they quickly undid the ties that fastened the gown behind his back, then they lowered him gently down and removed the soiled garment. Cindy quickly removed the oxygen tubing, blocked as it was by mucus, replacing it with the mask while she went to find a clean replacement.

Lisbon pulled the cover up protectively around Jane's bare shoulders, partly because he was trembling violently and his skin felt cold, but mostly so that she would not be forced to look at the mass of black and purple bruises that covered most of his upper body.

His breathing was coming in short laboured gasps and his pulse was racing, making the machines panic in unison with his distress and bringing a flurry of doctors and nurses into the room.

She sat quietly holding Jane's coldly clammy hand and watched his face as it told her the story of his torture. She patiently allowed the professionals to do their job; checking, monitoring, injecting and listening to his chest until at last they were satisfied and the machines had returned to something near their usual monotonous beeping.

Then Cindy fetched a bowl of warm water and some soft towels and together the two women bathed the shivering man and Cindy washed his face.

Lisbon felt the warmth gradually begin to return to his hand as the oxygen began to stabilize in Jane's body, his blood began to flow more smoothly, the shivering stopped and his face began to relax.

* * *

**How do you think it's going?**

**Too slow? Not enough action? Not enough humour ( on it's way I promise!)?**

**Let me know in a review. Feedback is the writers lifeblood to improvement... all comments gratefully recieved.**


	5. Just Stay

**Back at last and you've no idea how hard it is to get back into the writing. Most of this was written before I went away, so I've just checked it over and posted what I had.**

**The next chapter has been fizzing around my brain (mostly while lying in bed at 6.00am) but with no way to get it down on paper huge chunks will probably get lost, so it make be a good week before I can update again.**

**Anyway I hope you enjoy this one, please let me know...**

* * *

Lisbon sat at Jane's bedside for the better part of the afternoon.

Exhausted by the vomiting and coughing and the numerous tiresome sessions of poking, prodding and questioning from doctors and nurses who came to check on him at regular intervals, Jane had quickly dozed off and was restlessly sleeping away the residual effects of anaesthesia.

The other part of the afternoon Lisbon had spent in the cafeteria, grabbing some lunch and getting an update from the team. She had only been with Jane for about an hour and a half but it had been a wearing experience. She was glad to escape to a strong cup of coffee and some toast, safe in the knowledge that even though he had been tired enough to sleep naturally he had also been given 'something to help him relax' and would most likely not wake soon. In any event the lovely Cindy was under strict orders to call her over the tannoy if he should wake and ask for her.

Cho had tried to speak to her earlier, but her attentions had understandably been with her consultant. The team were eager to come down to show their support but Lisbon had told them firmly that they would be of more assistance to Jane in getting to the bottom of what had befallen him rather than standing around his beside watching him throw up.

She had no desire to sit through that harrowing experience again herself, she had watched many drunks depositing their stomach contents onto cold sidewalks but the agony caused by Jane's injuries as he convulsed over the expulsion of a few sips tea had left a bitterness in her soul at his helplessness and her own inability to do anything more than comfort him and clean him up like a helpless child or a weak old man at the end of his life.

Lisbon expelled the ghoulish image of anguish and pain that she hardly recognised from her mind and made herself focus on what her second in command was telling her.

As it was the team had little more to add.

The fire department forensics team had declared that the fire could not be regarded as arson. It had started in the same room from whose window Jane was assumed to have fallen or jumped. The seat of the fire appeared to be near the doorway opposite the window. There was evidence of the remains of some elaborate and extremely flammable wall hangings tangled around a couple of large and elaborate candlesticks, one of which had been knocked over and more of which were placed around the room. The fire officer had concluded and Rigsby had concurred that this was where the fire had started.

There was no other light or heating in the house, the power having been disconnected some years previously.

The whole house was untidy, littered and wrecked by a series of squatters and vagrants, so no evidence of a recent struggle or disturbance could be established.

The back door to the house and the open window of the room where the fire had started were the only entrance or exits unlocked.

The only other useful piece of information was a small trace of blood and hair on the edge of a stone door surround in the same room, near to the seat of the fire. Samples were being sent for DNA testing.

Cho had also had the team examine the grounds and canvas the neighbours again, but nothing had come up.

Lisbon resigned her self to the fact that they would probably not get any further until she could speak to Jane properly. She gave the team the rest of the day off and hurriedly went back to resume her vigil at Jane's bedside.

xx

xx

With a half empty cup of weak (she'd forgotten to request an extra shot for her take-away), and now lukewarm, cup of cafeteria coffee beside her, Lisbon sat, occasionally shifting her weight from one side to the other, crossing and uncrossing her legs, at the mercy of the ubiquitous sweaty plastic hospital chair.

At no time did she allow her discomfort to disrupt her hold on his hand. She simply allowed it to gently rest on his, to feel the warmth, to remind herself of what might have been and that he was still alive.

As regularly as the long black hand of the clock on the wall above the nurses station, clicking to register the passing of the minutes, she would let her gaze and her mind drift back from nagging thoughts of work she should be attending to, settling always on his face, on his long blond lashes, resting on pale cheeks, and on the swollen graze on his right cheekbone. Evidence of how he had slammed into the hard unforgiving ground, it was like an angry shout mark yelling at her.

He looked peaceful now, after the storm, but a ghostly shadow of his sparkling self, his skin ashen and the bouncy golden curls that usually served as a beacon as she searched for him in a crowd, now flattened and dull, dirtied by the smoke which she could still smell the lingering traces of.

The shout mark reminded her insistently that these moments of peace were only temporary for Patrick Jane.

She took another sip from the polystyrene cup, cringing at its unpleasant staleness, but not caring.

She studied his every breath, steadier now the longer he slept, and with each breath in she rued the day he had stumbled into her life. With each breath out she knew she could never let him leave. With each breath in he sneaked his way closer and closer to her heart. With each breath out he curled around it tighter and tighter, leaving her with no choice.

Maybe it was not such a bad thing to have no choice.

xx

xx

Jane could feel the comforting warmth of a small hand weighing down on his. He flexed his own hand cautiously to confirm that what he felt was real and he opened his eyes. The light of a dipping early evening sun filtered in through the slits in the blinds and cast amber patterns on the wall opposite.

He was feeling distinctly better.

His eyes focused and discovered the serious face of Theresa Lisbon watching him. She was in a world of her own and it did not seem to register with her that he was awake, much less looking straight back at her, so in a quiet voice he said,

"Why so glum Theresa?"

He beamed at her and her eyes suddenly registered recognition of his wakefulness. She gave a sad smile in return then let it fall to reveal pain and frustration.

He looked at her quizzically, making her feel uncomfortable.

"Penny for them," he tried.

"You could have died Jane. In fact I thought you had! What the hell did you think you were doing?" she tried not to allow her anger seep into her voice, but as she spoke, sympathy and quiet control lost out to high pitched angst.

…_there you go again Theresa, kick a man while he's down. Be positive!_

"You don't think I have every right to be glum?" she asked more reasonably.

Jane thought calmly for a bit. He understood her anger.

_... she's worried… try to deflect…reassure_

"Well, I calculated, or as best I could given that concussion doesn't aid calculation and I was feeling pretty dizzy, and I figured my chances were about 55% and that's better than half."

"Yes, but did you allow for the fact that you aren't a stuntman. Do you remember telling me you thought you were a stuntman?" she snapped back.

"Well maybe not and anyway I don't think I would have said I was a stuntman, only that I tried to roll like one. Additionally I didn't have time to go into details in my calculations. So let's take off a couple of percent for that and then there was the fact that I had trouble estimating the distance to the ground. Did I tell you it kept waving up at me like the ocean on a bad day? All green and choppy. But maybe that was the concussion too. I think I was concussed, my head felt pretty woozy. Not so good for calculation…"

He paused for a few noisy breaths and a cough.

Lisbon found her expression softening to one of optimism and amusement at his attempt at a lengthy monologue.

Jane was coming back!

"Shall we call it 50% then? That's not so bad. Oh and then there was the smoke, that made things tricky. Horrible stuff. I did my best you know and I'm OK aren't I ? I mean I'm going to be OK ... aren't I?"

He stopped again and beamed a dazzling smile at her.

The first real Jane bobby dazzler.

"Am I rambling Lisbon? Shall I shut up?"

"Yes Jane. You are. Of course you are."

"What Lisbon? Rambling or Ok?"

"Both Jane. But I think you need a cup of tea," she told him with a wry smile. "Think you can handle it?"

He smiled again more tentatively and patted his stomach gently through the covers, "Solid as a rock now Lisbon, honestly."

Lisbon thought for a moment and decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

She nudged his arm playfully and rose from the uncomfortable chair.

"Tea it is then, ... Oh, and you'll have to pay more than a penny for my thoughts. They come with a Tiffanys price tag," she grinned.

Lisbon stuck her head out into the corridor and was lucky to spot Cindy stationed behind the nurses desk.

Soon Jane was sipping blissfully on another cup of steamy hot tea in the same pink mug. Cindy had even managed to find a drinkable refill for Lisbon.

"I promise I'll keep this one down Lisbon" he declared cheerfully.

"Yes, I think you will," she said "You're feeling better aren't you?"

He gave a coy nod.

They sat and enjoyed their drinks together while Lisbon mentally prepared herself for the talk she had been waiting to have with Jane. She could not delay any longer. She knew Jane was up to it this time, even though he might not want to cooperate, and she was determined that she would handle him more effectively than during her last effort.

She put down her cup and took Jane's empty one from him.

Sitting up straight and looking at him solemnly but sympathetically she took his hand firmly in both of hers. He looked down at her hands grasping his, unsettled by her far from typical action, but he didn't withdraw from her and so she waited until his expression confirmed that he understood her gesture as a need to be serious.

"Jane, we need to talk about last night," she began, inhaling a deep breath that betrayed her apprehension, "I want you to tell me exactly what happened, from the beginning."

"OK," he answered earnestly, "I'll do my best, but it's a little bit vague and to be honest there's not much to tell."

"You told me you went there because you had a message. A text. On your phone. What time was that? Can you remember what it said?"

He had to think momentarily to recall the exactitudes of the message, his memory palace being somewhat in disarray and cloaked in fog.

"Yes, a text. At about nine thirty. It gave the address and said something like 'you and I need to talk about the women in our lives'. So I went immediately. I arrived just after ten, I think."

"How did you know it was Red John," she asked. "You remember me telling you there was no message on your phone?"

"Yes, I do and I can't explain it Lisbon, but I know it was him. Who else would have reason to say that?" He gave her a worried look.

"You do believe me don't you? That there was a text?," he reiterated firmly staring deeply into her eyes, searching desperately signs of trust.

"Yes I do," she assured him rather unconvincingly, knowing that he wasn't going to back down and change his story.

"What happened when you got there?"

"I went straight into the house. It was just beginning to get dusky and I could see a light in the top floor front bedroom, the middle one. I was very careful. I couldn't see anyone when I entered the room but there were some big old candles alight, not enough to see things clearly though. I sort of hid behind the door and waited til he came."

"Go on. Did you get a look at him."

"Turns out he was already in the room, in the shadows at the other end. I didn't see him at first. Then I could hear his breathing. He told me to face away from him, but I could see the glint of his knife reflecting the candle light, so I couldn't take the risk of not keeping my eye on him."

He changed the grip of their hands so that he was holding hers tightly now and started flexing his fingers, tensely responding as the memories unfolded.

"He started spouting some diatribe about my disrespect for women. Made my blood boil...started reeling off a list …"

Lisbon felt Jane's hand grip hers ever tighter and heard his breaths start to become uneven, his face painting it's own picture of his thoughts as they came.

"Angela, … Kristina, … Lorelei, … you … " he forced out.

"I lost it Lisbon… I just wanted to see his face … to look into the face of the devil," he was beginning to panic but took some quick breaths, gathered himself and kept going,

"I grabbed at him, tried to turn him around to face me. I remember the knife clattering down onto the floor… stone tiles I guess."

He stopped, searching frantically through the jumbled memories of the night, struggling to sort out reality from confused dreams.

"So what next Jane. How did he get away? And the fire?"

Lisbon asked him slowly and calmly, trying to give him space to breathe.

"We struggled and I think I fell back against the doorway. Hit my head … couldn't keep my balance, ... knocked some stuff over.

"I just remember him standing over me, saying 'I only wanted to talk Patrick'. Then nothing much til I was climbing out onto the window sill."

Lisbon considered carefully before she spoke again, she decided to be straightforward, even now there was no point pussy footing around where Jane was involved.

"Jane you do realise that there was no trace of anybody else in the room, no knife and none of the neighbours saw or heard anything except your car."

She searched his eyes, trying desperately not to appear accusatory.

"That doesn't mean it didn't happen Lisbon," he retorted tiredly, anger rising in his eyes. "I know what happened. Are you saying you don't believe me?"

"Not at all Jane," she attempted to pacify him, hoping she could minimise his stress. "But it means we don't have much to go on," she added sadly, looking down at her hands which had retreated to her lap when he had released them in disappointment.

There was much more she needed to say she but thought better of it, taking a few moments before settling for a conciliatory,"I'm sorry Jane," to which she added brightly, after consideration and prompted by the grumbling of her own empty stomach. "I'm hungry. How about I see if I can get someone to find you something to eat. You haven't had anything to eat since, when? Yesterday lunch time?"

She examined his face carefully. Yes. There was a little more colour now and he appeared to be mulling over the tricky question of food, unconsciously running his tongue around his lips at the prospect.

"OK, I'll go and ask what you can have."

"That would be nice Lisbon," he said, but the expression he wore told her that food wasn't entirely at the forefront of his mind.

"Then I expect you'll want to tell me what else it was that you wanted to say."

"It can wait," she said and beat a hasty retreat to find a nurse.

xx

xx

Jane had slept through the regular time for patients evening meal, and the lovely Cindy had gone home for the night to be replaced by a rather foreboding, middle aged woman, not the motherly type Jane had always thought nurses should be. She was dark haired and olive skinned and had a vaguely chilly aura about her. She made him feel uncomfortable, but she performed the regular checks on him and seemed satisfied, although her bedside manner had been lost along the way.

He noticed that her name was Carmina, and was pleased to note that he could now read the name tag on her chest, if she came close enough, without his head spinning.

Carmina brought him some plain toast and a bowl of soup, and afterwards some tasteless tea in a plastic cup.

He ate most of the soup and a few bites of the first piece of leathery toast and looked forlornly at the tea.

He was pretty tired now but not sleepy.

Lisbon returned soon after he had finished eating, having been to get some fresh air and something to quell her own hunger pangs. She had found she didn't actually feel particularly hungry and had just bought some chips and a chocolate bar to give her coffee something to sit with.

She thought maybe she had just needed to give both Jane and herself some space. Their conversation seemed to have swung like a ping pong match of emotions but if she thought about it there had been enough of the real Jane twinkle to give her some encouragement to take home with her.

She took the opportunity to call in to make sure that the team had obeyed her instructions to go home and was pleased to find that they had. Tomorrow would be another day, it would bring another case no doubt and maybe Jane would remember something useful for them to work with.

When she re-entered his room, having decided to suggest to him that she would leave him for the night, the leftovers of Jane's meal still sat in front of him. He shot her a look that said 'aren't I a good boy, I've eaten some even though I didn't enjoy it', but she couldn't help feeling a little disappointed by his efforts.

"Was it good Jane?" she asked him.

"Yeah, it was OK, but that tea was rubbish. Just the smell. Couldn't touch it."

Food didn't seem to have lightened the mood she had left him in, but she put it down to a combination of pain, tiredness and drugs. That combined with her own mood not being at it's brightest, she concluded that it was indeed time for her to go home and get some sleep, and a much needed shower.

She hoped fervently that Jane would be able to do the same.

"I'm going home now Jane," she said and leant forward to pop a whisper of a kiss on his forehead.

As she pulled back she gave his hand a little squeeze and a reassuring smile.

"We both need some rest. I'll be back first thing. You'll be fine," she looked deep into his eyes, "OK?"

"OK" he said meekly.

_ ... No please don't go, I want you to stay…we don't have to talk…just stay…_

Just as Lisbon was about to close the door she heard his voice call out,

"Lisbon can you get me some puzzle books before you go. I might not be able to sleep ..."

xx


	6. Nightminds

**Chapter 6: Chapter 6**

* * *

**First of all many thanks to any reviewers who I haven't been able to reply to, especially to my regulars( you know who you are)! Thankyou you all for your kind words.**

**I must admit I've had trouble finishing this chapter after watching 5.16 so I hope it's OK and not too slow. Not very in character I guess but hey at least I'm enjoying writing and I hope you're all going to stick with me.**

* * *

_Previously on 'Roll Like a Stuntman'_

_Just as Lisbon was about to close the door she heard his voice call out, "Lisbon can you get me some puzzle books before you go. I might not be able to sleep."_

* * *

And Patrick Jane was always right. Wasn't he?

He was tired, but he could't sleep.

The failsafe breathe yourself to sleep method that he pedalled to anybody who asked didn't work because he didn't want it to work.

Because he was scared.

Scared that he would sleep.

Scared that he would dream.

But his determination not to sleep was no solution because he was also scared to be awake and alone with his thoughts.

Now that he was no longer wading through the swampy mists of self inflicted or medically induced unconsciousness and his pain was at least somewhat under control his mind was beginning to make up for lost time.

The synapses of his perpetually over active brain were firing randomly and rapidly, playing a vivid recording of the last day and a half on repeat, but the details kept changing in each version, like some terrifying rollercoaster ride.

His head was still aching in spite of the pain relief and he could not concentrate, but that didn't stop him from digging deeper into the mass of confusion that confronted him, battling to separate gory reality from gruesome fantasy.

He had needed a distraction and the puzzle book that Lisbon had searched out for him was long since completed, and it hadn't occupied him for long, even with his attention wandering to myriad more pressing thoughts and his usually razor sharp intellect impaired.

So his mind went walkabout.

He had been so pleased to have Lisbon with him for most of the day. For fleeting moments as he lay there now he could feel a lingering shadow left by the comforting softness of her touch on his hand, how it had steadied him.

He remembered her voice, warm and gentle as she reassured him … "_you'll be fine', _and the fragile tone, brittle and higher pitched as she admonished him for his recklessness … '_you could have died!'_.

He remembered her warm girlish smile when she had entered the room for the first time that morning and the sun had come out, and he remembered how mean he had been to her then, …'_where were you Lisbon?' _and how it had made the sunshine fade.

He remembered and savoured each of those moments and then they were gone, floating off into the ether to be replaced by another memory, but the one thing he couldn't forget was doubt in her voice.

Even when she had told him that she did believe him, her uncertainty had been obvious, and it was that which had him worried now.

Theresa had unwittingly sown the seeds of her doubt in his psyche and the seedlings were flourishing in the fertile soil of his mind as he lay awake in the dimly lit room, some of them growing in the dark corners, creeping perniciously up the walls and creeping out across the ceiling towards his bed. The bed that he was unable to escape.

There **had** been a text.

"Hadn't there?"

The clinging doubts asked him.

Just because the text wasn't there on his phone now didn't mean it hadn't been there before.

There is a solution to every conundrum so there had to be to this one, he reasoned.

_You're not crazy._

"Are you ?"

The doubts nagged at him.

There **had** been a fight in that room. He hadn't imagined the things Red John had said.

"Did you imagine it?"

"Did you?"

They ranted.

What man in his right mind would throw himself back against cold hard stone and knock himself senseless, then jump out of a second floor window.

What man in his right mind ?...he wasn't crazy. Was he?

_Am I?_

_Am I?_

Jane swallowed hard, shoving all these thoughts sternly into a dingy hidey hole at the back of somewhere he hoped he wouldn't find them again and on his way out suddenly tripped over a solution to the problem of distraction. If common or garden puzzle books were insufficient challenge to that problem then he knew exactly what would be. He wondered why he hadn't thought of it before.

His eyes were sore from tiredness and he had barely enough energy to focus but he always had reserves to call on in pursuit of his ultimate quest.

He reached for the call button and waited for someone to come.

The door soon opened quietly and there stood Carmina.

He was sure she tried to exude all the requisite qualities required of her vocation, but there was something about that woman that he didn't like.

"What is it Mr Jane?"she practically demanded in a harsh half whisper.

_... that's it! ... No empathy. I'm a sick person. It's your job to be nice to me… even if you don't mean it…_

"It's past 2am. You're supposed to be asleep. Are you in pain? Can I get you something?" her disinterest was almost palpable as she stood there all shadowy in the half light.

"I can't sleep. Don't want to," he automatically reflected her surly mood.

_... Uh oh, that's a mistake. Don't admit you don't __**want**__ to sleep. She'll use it against you ..._

He quickly changed tack and brightened.

"Actually, there is something you can get for me," he smiled sweetly at her, "There's a book, a little black book. It will be in my personal effects. I would have had it in my jacket pocket when they brought me in."

Carmina looked at him as though she thought he was mad.

"I'll have a look for you, but it won't do you any good sitting up reading all night," she hissed, sounding like the snake he had decided she was.

She crossed the room and took the bag containing his things from the small locker at his bedside and, without showing him it's contents, she rummaged through them, eventually declaring, "No. No little black book. Sorry, you'll just have to go to sleep. I could get you something to help."

The idea that the book wasn't where it should be threw Jane's exhausted mind into a frenzy. He couldn't answer her. If the book wasn't there where the hell was it?

The book could **not **be lost.

It had to be there.

The rhythm of Jane's heart immediately became irregular and jumpy in panic and the beeping monitors began to sing and dance in response.

His hands shook and his eyes roamed around the room as if searching, as if the book itself was hiding from him, in amongst the wandering and burgeoning trendrils of his clinging doubt.

"It **is** there. It must be there. What have you done with it?" he demanded unreasonably.

"There is no book. Only your phone, your wallet, some keys and some bits and pieces. See."

She shook out the contents onto the top of the locker.

No Book.

"Where are my clothes? My jacket. It was in the pocket. Where is it?" he moaned on.

"I guess your clothes weren't salvageable. They'll probably have been binned, or one of your colleagues took them," Carmina answered coldly.

"But the book should be there. It has to be."

He could hear own his voice pleading, seemingly detached, quiet and intense, shaking with fury, horror and desperation.

"Find it then. Find it," he seethed at her venomously, almost under his breath.

_... Don't you realize how important that book is…?_

"Someone's stolen it," he spat the accusation through gritted teeth.

Carmina calmly dumped his belongings unceremoniously back into their bag and returned them to the locker.

"I'll be back in a minute Mr Jane," she told him. "Try to calm down. You'll make yourself ill."

Without so much as a glance at him she turned and swept from the room still muttering "I'll get something to help you sleep. We can look for the book in the morning."

Jane's head slumped helplessly back against the pillows and he closed his eyes against the reverberating shock waves of headache, frustration and anger.

He tried to slow his ragged breathing so he didn't make himself cough.

He didn't have the energy.

He wondered how he was going to get through the night.

He gave up wondering when he heard quiet voices enter the room and felt activity around his bed.

He didn't even bother lifting his leaden eyelids as he felt the head end of his bed being slowly lowered a little and his cover being straightened around him.

He didn't even try to protest when he thought he heard someone say " This will help you get some rest," in that unbearably patronising doctor knows best tone; even though more drugs were the last thing he wanted.

Who knew what was real and what was not when drugs took control?

And he let them carry him away.

Into the dark.

Until…

"Patrick…"

"Patrick…"

The voice was that familiar one; high and whiny, insidious and slippery, sticky like syrup but at the same time thin as a weasel.

It was the voice he knew and could not identify, but would never forget.

"I know you can hear me Patrick. Why don't you open your eyes and take a look?"

He tried but even when he thought his eyes were open all he could see was swirling shadows and nothingness.

He couldn't tell dreams from daydreams, daydreams from reality, sleep from waking.

But the voice was clear as day.

"I was so sorry our meeting took such an unfortunate turn. I hope you will believe me when I tell you it was not my intention. I had been so looking forward to our little chat, but don't worry, I can wait. We **will** talk again. In the mean time I will be sure to keep an eye on you, monitor your recovery as it were. My friends will look after you."

The sound of that voice slid into every crevice of his being and stuck like wasps in a honey trap, stinging his very soul and he had no power to resist it, no will to ignore it's pervasive, seeping torment.

It haunted him 'til sunrise.

xx

xx

When Grace entered the predictably bright but bland hospital room early next morning she was confronted by the sight of a very unhappy man picking and prodding at the plate of congealed scrambled eggs he was glowering down at. Next to the plate sat a plastic cup containing cold tea.

His face was drawn, his manner agitated, as he pushed the offending food back and forth like a cruel old cat taunting a mouse long since dead.

If such a face could be said to fall, his fell a thousand feet when he slowly looked up and saw her. Although he quickly attempted a disguising smile she was painfully aware of his disappointment.

She determined not to let him see her own dismay at his reaction, she knew full well that, to him, she was a poor substitute, so she greeted him cheerfully.

"Hello Jane," she gave him an encouraging smile, "Lisbon sends her apologies. She had a last minute meeting to attend. She promises she'll be in to see you this afternoon."

"Oh," he said to his bedcovers.

"Anyway, it gives me the chance to come and see you," she added, trying to sound cheery.

"Lisbon tells me you were feeling much better yesterday evening," she ventured.

"Oh, I was …. I am… much better …. never better…." he looked up at her and lied.

_... well that's true … physically better, at least…_

"That's good," she let him think she believed him. "You weren't hungry?"

"No …. Not really," he looked sadly down at the plate.

"Jane. You haven't even touched the tea."

"No … it's muck. I won't drink it."

His depression hung like a barrier between them, a thick grey rain cloud threatening to dump it's misery.

He looked up at her openly concerned face, with an expression that said _'just ask me Grace', _but he said nothing.

So she asked.

"Jane I know something's bothering you. It's not just pain is it? I mean they're looking after you? Do you want to talk?"

"Can you take that food away first," he said, "I can't stand the smell."

"Sure," she smiled and swiftly whisked the offending tray away, returning quickly and perching herself carefully on the edge of his bed.

"Jane, Lisbon will be worried if she sees you like this. Is there something I can do to help."

He rubbed both hands over his face a few times and then through his hair, before letting them fall to his lap with a long slow exhalation of breath that made him cough a little and hurt a lot.

Then he closed his eyes.

…_dear Grace, such a good heart…wish I could be cheery for you…_

She couldn't remember a time when she'd seen him look more defeated, more grey. Even as he sat bathed in a pool of warm moring sunlight, which brought colour to the white bed linen, he remained grey.

Dull hair, grey skin, grey movements, grey Jane.

…_so wrong! That's not our Jane …golden Jane…_

"Grace I have to get out of this place. Now," his eyes sprang open. "I can't stay here a minute longer."

"Why Jane? I mean I know you don't like hospitals but it's the best place for you right now."

" No Grace, it's not."

"What then? Did something happen?"

"That woman." he gestured to the door. "Last night. She wouldn't give me my book and then they drugged me…. and then…." he started to clench and release his fists and look nervously around the room and he stopped the words before they tumbled out without permission.

_... keep your mouth shut about the other stuff…she'll tell Lisbon… they'll think I'm a nut case…_

"What woman Jane? What book?" Grace asked him gently. She wondered whether he would accept a comforting hand, but thought better of it.

Instead she watched patiently and saw him slowly become still as he calmed a little, debating how much to tell her.

Eventually he looked down at the dainty gold watch on her wrist.

"What time is it Grace," he said, in complete control once more. " Can you see if the day nurses are on yet. Ask for Cindy. She's an angel …. she has a china cup."

Grace had no trouble at all finding Cindy. Sometimes Jane could be so obvious. Of course he thought she was an angel with her sweet peaches and cream complexion and walking on air walk bounce.

Cindy had just arrived for the day and smiled broadly at the news that her already favourite patient had been asking for her.

"Oh, he's such a sweetie. The poor thing …. shame he seems so sad… and with that beautiful smile. He shouldn't waste it so. Does he need some tea?" she busied herself around with her notes for the day, sorting through to find one particular sheet. She quickly scanned it and continued.

"It seems he had a bad night. Didn't sleep too well. Got distressed about something," she looked up at Grace, "It says they had to administer a mild sedative. How is he this morning? Sleepy?"

"No, not sleepy, but not good. It's the first time I've seen him since the accident, so I didn't know what to expect. Jane's usually a very resilient character, he can always raise a smile from somewhere, but I can't say I've seen him this low before."

Grace couldn't help thinking that no matter how bad Jane seemed today it was probably a million miles from approaching the depths of despair he had experienced before. She debated telling Cindy something of her friend's background but decided that if she didn't already know (and it was quite likely all around the hospital by now, his reputation being what it was), then it would serve no useful purpose to do so. Cindy's pity would do him no good. She was doing just fine.

Cindy smiled a confident smile and reaching down, she produced the pretty pink mug, "Don't worry, we'll soon have him smiling. You pop back in and I'll find him something decent instead of that vending machine swill."

True to her word Cindy was back in a flash with a steaming brew and true to Grace's suspicions Jane switched almost instantly to performance mode.

"Oh Cindy, my manna from heaven. My little godsend. Why don't they make all nurses like you" he beamed through his grey mask.

The two women pulled chairs close to his bedside and started to work.

"So Patrick," the young nurse gave him the sort of look he would have received from disappointed teacher, had he ever had the pleasure of knowing one. "It says on your notes that you had an altercation with Nurse Santos about a book, and that you accused her of stealing it. And it says that you had to be sedated."

Jane sipped on his tea and looked heavenward.

"That's not strictly true. She wouldn't or couldn't find my book and I may have said that **someone **had stolen it. I don't believe I directly accused anyone. But the fact remains that my book is not where it should be and I needed it. I still need it."

He took another long sip and added seriously, "Also I was already going to sleep when they gave me those drugs. They had no reason to drug me. It's illegal!"

A slow smile of realisation spread over vanPelt's face as it suddenly dawned on her,

"Jane. What book are we talking about? That little black one that you carry around sometimes? Because if it's that one I know where it is."

"Well why didn't you say so Grace. You've had me besmirching the name of the horrible Nurse Carmina when you knew all along ? Shame on you." Jane tried for jokey but failed to keep the overtones of suspicion from overshadowing the relief in his voice.

His tone suddenly changed.

"Where is it Grace? Where did you find it?" he questioned her, all lightness now drained from his face to be replaced by returning anxiety, "It's important."

"I found it on your couch when I got into the office yesterday morning. You never leave things lying around, so I figured you must have dropped it. I put it with your other books…."

"Yesterday morning? The day after I leapt from that burning building? Are you sure?" he demanded with a harshness in his croaky voice that sent a shiver down her spine.

"Yes of course I'm sure. Why?"

"Because I know it was in my pocket when I went to meet him. That's why," he snapped.

_... oh god I hope she didn't notice ... don't want to talk about **him **... not ready..._

"But it's safe now," she tried to reassure him. "I'll have Lisbon bring it in for you when she comes this afternoon."

Jane raised his eyes and seeing the inherent goodness that always shone so brightly there, suddenly felt overwhelmed by guilt.

"I'm sorry Grace. I'd appreciate that. Be sure you tell Lisbon I missed her and not to be late."

His eye was suddenly caught by Cindy who he noticed had cast a glance at the door and her other duties.

"Cindy ," he widened his eyes and smiled. "I need to see Dr Brownloe, so that he can sign me out of this place."

The two women's eyes met instantly sharing the same thought.

_He __**is**__ mad!_

Jane wanted to go home. It was obviously not going to happen.

But they both knew that to roll with Jane would be the easier road. Besides they could use the situation to advantage. Change the subject and give him something to focus on.

"He's due in about half an hour Patrick," Cindy told him. "But you know that there's no way he's going to allow you to go home. I mean even if you were physically fit to be discharged, which you are not, you haven't eaten more than half a bowl of soup in nearly two days and you won't be leaving until you are eating properly and sleeping."

Van Pelt added reinforcement.

"She's right Jane. You have to eat and have a rest before Lisbon comes in or she'll put a veto on you going anywhere. Besides you don't want her to see you like this do you?"

"Well I guess not," he looked suitably ashamed, but the cogs were already whirring.

" Ok. I'll eat," he said, resignation abruptly transformed to bright positivity.

"Cindy, you go find me something wholesome and VanPelt, you trot off and tell Lisbon that I'll be coming home tomorrow but I'd be grateful if she'd bring my book in anyway,"

He finished with a weak flourish of his hand.

It would have been a grand flourish if he'd had the energy, he reflected ruefully. Maybe they were right, he didn't feel like eating while he was trapped in this anticeptic cage with his demons but by not eating he was prolonging his incarceration, so if he started playing the game he'd get his way.

He'd get out.

"Ok" the two girls replied in chorus, turning quickly to conceal conspiratorial grins.

VanPelt quickly gathered up her things, Cindy picked up the precious teamug and both women left the room giving their victim no chance to change his mind.

"Yogurt and banana OK as a start, Patrick?" sang Cindy, backtracking to pop her head back round the door as VanPelt was saying her goodbyes.

"I'll see you tomorrow then Jane."

"You bet Grace. Looking forward to it. Say hi to the boys for me".

The door swung to and closed with a click leaving Jane still looking grey and exhausted but feeling strangely euphoric and smugly satisfied.

VanPelt threw a look of triumph at Cindy who was already phoning down to get Jane's food order.

"Don't worry Cindy. Healthy eating or not, he's not going anywhere," she said laughing. "He lives alone in a second floor motel room!"

And on the other side of the door…

_I'll be out of here tomorrow…_

**So what do you think….. Who won Jane or the ladies ...No hints about what happens next… and sorry there's no Lisbon , she'll be back in the next chapter….. Please tell me if it's still going OK…. and where I'm going wrong or even right!**


	7. Persuasion

**Chapter 7: Chapter 7**

* * *

**Don't remember if I replied to my very generous reviewers this week, must get round to it,but I was thrilled with all your support. Hope you all enjoy this chapter….. not too much action, but I quite enjoyed writing it…**

* * *

Renewed focus on a possibility, no matter how tenuous it's attachment to reality, revealed itself to be a surprisingly efficient stimulant to the appetite and so Jane quickly set about escaping his incarceration, starting by eating properly. He soon found himself on the outside of a pot of healthy vanilla yogurt and a very tasty banana, which the equally delicious Cindy had cheerfully presented, ready peeled and sliced and accompanied by another steamy brew.

_No excuses there then._

His face settled into a relaxed but determined softness and he laid back to concentrate his attention on the next phase of his master plan for freedom. He had less than twenty minutes to prepare himself to present his doctor with the picture of a rapidly recovering patient, potentially ready to return to the bosom of his caring family.

It was pleasantly surprising then to be reminded that just a little boost to the blood sugar from a few bites of banana could work wonders in banishing that gnawing sick feeling in the pit of his empty stomach and the shaky weakness in his hands. Perhaps it was having a similar positive effect on the pallor of his skin.

He closed his eyes and took a journey around every part of his painful body, in turn relaxing sore muscles and willing away tension. Finally, he emptied his mind of distractions, steadied his pulse to exactly seventy one beats per minute, which he decided would constitute a reasonable resting rate, and set about regulating his breathing to a slow, rhythmic rise and fall.

The breathing he found marginally more challenging because of the irritating cough and tickling wheeze that still, more than occasionally, crept back to catch him unawares. But everything was fine as long as he didn't move too much.

It was good to have a challenge.

Satisfied that he was ready for anything the estimable Dr Brownloe could throw at him, he moulded his expression into one of contented repose and, inner impatience skilfully disguised, he awaited the doctor's arrival.

_For heaven's sake get a wriggle on, this playacting stuff takes effort… don't know how long I can keep it up…_

Exactly twenty two minutes later and not a minute too soon, the whirlwind blew in, accompanied by two eager medical students. One was a pale skinny youth, barely out of short pants and the other a rather more well nourished and dapper older man who Jane judged to be embarking on a career change following an unsuccessful foray into the acting world.

_This is all I need…one thesbian in the room is enough!_

Students!

Jane was dismayed. He groaned inwardly. This could only mean valuable time wasted on tedious explanations and questioning on the background to his sorry situation, his diagnosis, treatment, current condition and prognosis.

_Yep…that's me…jumped from a great height, knock on the head, smoke inhalation, cracked ribs and busted up legs… all you need to know …in less than thirty seconds… Now let's concentrate on getting me out of here…_

Ten full minutes later and just as Jane's mask was beginning to falter, the physical examination began.

He refocused, opened his eyes wide and studiously carried out the 'follow my penlight' exercises with perfect precision for the ex actor and then again for Dr Brownloe, who he noted seemed to be impressed.

Then he gritted his teeth, without allowing his mask to slip, and as instructed, leaned forward for what he was certain was longer than an eternity, however long that might be.

_What a stupid expression 'longer than an eternity'…eternity is what it is… for ever…_

The skinny youth had the honour of listening for suspicious noises in his chest. Unfortunately the poor boy's inexperience meant a cold stethoscope, which led to a rather sharper intake of breath than anticipated and a yelp of pain, which stoicism failed to stifle completely and thus kicked off a short bout of coughing. Jane hoped the doctor wouldn't hold this against him and was happy that, in any event, he was soon able to regain his composure.

Dr Brownloe smiled benignly at him and proceeded with his own examination; listening and tapping, then listening again. This time Jane willed himself to remain steady, taking in each slow breath just deeply enough to impress but not to the depths where trouble lurked.

All three men, watched closely as he wiggled his nicely pink toes enthusiastically for them and each one stepped forward to touch them cautiously in order to assess their warmth.

_This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed at home, this little pi…_

_oh get on with it…_

Jane sat passively poker faced, trying to eavesdrop without appearing rude, while the potential cream of the medical profession huddled around their mentor earnestly discussing his chart and copious notes.

_Really if you must discuss me, which I accept you must, then please have the courtesy to discuss me with me…I mean who is the focus of attention here…_

As he listened his optimism soon became tempered with caution when he felt sure he heard the phrases 'slightly anaemic' and 'extreme pallor'. He made a quick mental note to ask for steak (rare verging on blue) with a side of spinach and a glass of Guinness for his evening meal, although he gauged the chances of such a meal were slim and the thought of actually attempting to eat it filled him with trepidation.

He also chided himself for not taking better care of his diet lately. He'd been too preoccupied since Lorelei's death. More so than usual.

Many sage nods and shakes of the head later, the irascibly kind middle aged doctor ( he could understand why Lisbon had told him he reminded her of Minelli) stepped forward to address his patient.

Patrick looked up hopefully, wishing he didn't feel he might be wearing the face of a small boy begging for permission to stay up late.

"Well Mr Jane," the doctor began, " On the whole, I'm very pleased with your progress. Everything is going to plan. Your blood pressure is perfect, oxygen saturation levels are back to almost normal, so I think we can dispense with the extra help there. You still have some congestion and irritation in your lungs and bronchial tubes, though that's to be expected." He scribbled something and continued without looking up, "So we'll keep you on antibiotics for a bit….."

_And my legs? …you know I can't get out until …_

"…and you'll be pleased to know that you'll be going down to have new casts later this morning. You'll find they'll be much more comfortable and you'll be able to get out of bed ….go to the bathroom and so on. Someone will be in shortly to prepare you….. just some extra pain relief and a light sedation."

He paused as if waiting for congratulations or grateful thanks.

"Any questions?" he added with a kindly but distracted smile.

"Well yes… "

_Obviously!_

"You will have been told that I need to go home tomorrow…"

"Ah. I was wondering when you were going to bring that up," Dr Brownloe allowed his expression to return to one of professional concern and placed the chart back in it's place. Sighing slowly he settled into a posture of resignation, he'd had this conversation with numerous hospital phobic patients before.

The two students shuffled restlessly in the corner of the room, skinny youth picking his nails and failed actor fiddling with his shirt cuffs.

There was an uncomfortable silence, during which Jane directed his penetrating gaze deeply and earnestly into the doctor's eyes, ensuring the man was perfectly aware that he would not be deterred.

"Under normal circumstances I would expect you to remain here for at least two or three more days; even though you're doing well physically. Obviously we have to be sure you will be able to cope, even with live in support you will find it's going to be more difficult than you expect. Tiring. You know".

"Yes. I know," Jane answered smoothly, "but I have a large extended family who will be only too willing to help," he crooned. "And my sister's a nurse."

_Well OK …not strictly true…no blood ties…but… and …well the nurse …maybe that's stretching things a bit…but VanPelt's a first aider…_

"What about your domestic facilities ? Ground floor accommodation, bathroom access?"

"Oh, I have a very luxurious and extremely spacious house with ground floor wet room. No steps to deal with."

_All true… just don't live there…any more…_

The doctor straightened up from the position he had assumed, leaning, hands wrapped around the bottom bedrail. He shoved his hands purposefully into the pockets of his white coat and injected a more authoritative tone into his voice.

"All the same, someone will come to talk to you about those issues before you can be discharged," he paused and returned Jane's 'earnest glare' with one of his own, "but that is not my primary concern," he said.

_Uh oh! Thought this might be the stumbling block…_

"I understand that you have been having trouble sleeping and eating. My spies tell me that you were distressed last night to the point where you had to be sedated. What was the problem? Were you in pain? You only have to ask to have your pain relief reviewed you know."

Jane decided that discretion was definitely the better part of valour, so he explained meekly, "Oh I'm not in too much pain."

…_tiny fib…_

_"_I think I was just over tired. Feeling much better now," he smiled.

_No need to bring up the witch woman Carmina…_

"And I understand you refused to eat any breakfast?"

"Well it's just that I'm not used to breakfasting at such ungodly hours. I must have been drowsy from the drugs, but I had a sumptuous feast not half an hour later and I must say I'm absolutely famished now. Could kill a chilli dog!"

This line was delivered with an enthusiastic lick of the lips and a huge grin.

A stifled snigger from the corner of the room made Dr Brownloe pivot. He waved casually at the two amused but bored would be doctors and dismissed them with a wave of his hand,

"I don't think there's anything useful for you two to learn here. Go and catch up with some study. I'll page you when I'm finished with Mr Jane and we can resume rounds," he told them.

"Now Mr Jane," he continued, pulling up a chair, "I'm intrigued," he observed. "I'd like to know why it is you are so anxious to leave us. You appear to be an intelligent man, I know we offer a very high quality of care and I'm sure you understand when I say that it would be in your best interests to take advantage of that care for a few more days. I'm equally sure your health insurance will bear a few more days, so I am at a loss to see why you say you **need** to leave us."

Jane thought for a couple of seconds, then took a long pause which he filled by looking down sadly at his hands as they nervously picked and tugged at the edges of the bedcover. He finally looked up at the man with doleful, ever so slightly teary eyes and a mouth that twitched tensely at the corners and he began his final plea for escape.

_Keep it vague Jane, nothing specific, they'll have your records to refer to…just a good sob story…_

"It's difficult Doctor," he began in a quivering voice, barely above a whisper. "You see, I have a morbid fear of hospitals. I can't really explain it, it must be something I've blocked from my memory. It has something to do with my grandfather I think. He died when I was a child, but I remember visiting him in hospital. I was very young. We were very close... I ...I ..don't remember."

He watched from under his sadly lowered and moistened lashes as the doctor swallowed his every word.

_Got'im! Hook line and sinker…_

"Ever since then I just have these bad feelings whenever I get near one of these places. OK I admit it, I did panic last night. I couldn't sleep. Honestly, I'll be so much better off at home. I can get some rest. I'll recover much more quickly. Honestly."

He lowered his head even further and allowed a single tear to run from the corner of his eye before gulping back the rest and raising his bleary eyes in a melodramatic plea for sympathy.

_Was that too much … too angsty… hope he doesn't send me a counsellor…_

But the doctor merely squirmed a little in embarrassment at his patient's naked display of emotion. He rose from his chair, gathered his paperwork and looked at his watch.

"Leave it with me Patrick,"

Jane gleefully noted the use of his Christian name and smiled a wan smile.

"I'll send someone up to talk to you after lunch. It's nearly time for you to go down for your treatment and as much as I'd like to continue our little chat I'm afraid I have other patients to see."

With that he left and Jane allowed fatigue and relief to wash over him.

He wondered what had allowed him to give such persuasive performance. Fear of a repeat of the previous night? Perhaps mixed with adrenaline. Maybe sheer bloody mindedness or just plain arrogance.

Whatever it was, his body was drained but his soul was soothed.

_Mission accomplished…_

_xx_

_xx_

By the time Lisbon stalked fiercely into his room, wielding his little black book like a deadly weapon, Jane's legs had been carefully encased in neat new casts, from mid thigh down to rosy pink toes.

He had slept for an hour after the sedation had worn off and then, reminding himself sternly of his escape plan rules, had obediently eaten most of a meal of some kind of bland white fish in some kind of bland white sauce accompanied by rather over cooked mixed vegetables, followed by another vanilla yogurt. A little piece of steak for his evening meal suddenly seemed a whole lot more appealing.

Then came the cross examination by a social worker about his domestic arrangements for discharge. He felt he had given a very good account of himself, in spite of the forcefulness of her interrogation, having managed to dredge up a plausible answer for each searching question and remembering that the facts must correlate with the yarn he had spun for the doctor.

She had ticked a good number of boxes and gone away satisfied.

Cindy had come in with another nurse and helped him shuffle himself painfully into a wheelchair and he had been taken to the bathroom, where he had been able to use a proper toilet for the first time and had been gently bathed and allowed to amuse himself listening to the women cooing over his 'beautiful hair' as they shampooed it and dried it.

There was just one downside to this experience; the slow dawning of the difficulties involved in everyday personal activities and the realisation of what he'd talked himself into … but there was no going back now.

When Lisbon walked in, he sat, resplendent in fresh gown, his hair glowing, a mass of soft, clean, golden curls and his face smirking like the cat that got the cream.

She wiped that smirk straight off into next week, as she marched over and slung the book into his lap.

It landed with a thump, catching his knuckles with a painful sting, which he tried to ignore.

Lisbon stood staring sadly at him, hands on hips.

"There's your book," she announced coldly.

"I'm pleased to see you too Lisbon," he smiled up at her, whipping the book under the covers with the speed of a cobra striking it's prey.

"Jane, I give up,"

"Don't you think I look better, Lisbon?"

"Well yes you do," she had to admit, "but are you insane?"

"So Van Pelt gave you my message then?"

"Obviously," her tone still icy.

"Come and sit down Teresa," he motioned to the chair beside him, "You look uncomfortable and you're making me edgy. I'm sure the doctors wouldn't want me to be stressed."

"I **am **coming home tomorrow, you know. It's all arranged. Signed sealed and delivered."

_Well …OK, maybe not actually signed… but good as…_

She crossed the room and sat stiffly next to him, legs crossed.

"And what **home **would that be?"

He trained his puppy dog eyes on her, not too much pleading, just a hint.

"Well, naturally I assumed you would offer me the hospitality of **your** home. I mean we are partners."

Lisbon thought about that word …'partners', and she recalled the sting she felt when he told her that he trusted Lorelei and wondered just how devastated he must have been when she threw that trust right back in his face and walked about with her secret intact, undisclosed … she had betrayed him.

He had put his faith in the plaything of a psychopath and borne the consequences, yet he still couldn't bring himself to confide unreservedly in her, his 'partner'.

"Are we? Partners, I mean?"

"Yes, Teresa. We are," he stretched out his hand and gave hers a little squeeze then flashed her a coy smile and fluttered his long eyelashes like a girl.

Lisbon let out an exasperated sigh. She was disconcerted to find a confusion of feelings vying for her attention. Amusement was not necessarily one of them. There was compassion tinged with great sadness and another emotion. Was that pity or affection or something stronger?

Honestly, she felt like crying. She remembered the phrase that both of them had once uttered independently. Words which she knew neither one of them would ever forget yet each refused to acknowledge.

Just like her 'partner' so often did, she kept her true feelings firmly in check and stared blankly back at him.

Jane gave her hand another tiny squeeze before he withdrew his to rest beside it and eventually his croaky voice broke the silence.

"Lisbon I need to get out of here, and yours is the only place I'd feel comfortable," he said seriously, "I know it will be difficult, but those are only physical problems. Problems are put before us so that we may overcome them… there's a solution to every problem. I've told you that many times."

_Really Jane, are you kidding…_

"But you've been in my place Jane. You know its not suitable. Christ, you won't be able to manage the stairs …you'll have to sleep on the couch. That's going to be uncomfortable…it could be for weeks. And the bathroom …you won't be able to … I mean I know it's on the ground floor but…and I have to go to work…"

"I've slept on couches for years Lisbon… better than beds and we'll work out a way around the bathroom problem. Those are the only really big issues, aren't they? And you know I don't mind being on my own. You can leave me a thermos and some sandwiches. I'd be fine. Really. With the TV and some books."

As he spoke she studied his face, watching the energy and colour beginning to fade and his posture gradually slumping.

"Where else can I go? I can't go to my motel room. Its upstairs and there'd be nobody there at night,"

The thought of dark, lonely nights with no escape from the shadows began to overwhelm him and he had to close his eyes to ward off a sickly surge of panic that swelled in his guts. Under normal circumstances if he felt like that he could jump in his car and drive out his demons.

"Would you have me put in a convalescent home with strangers and old people who don't understand me and my particular nature? I could't stand it Lisbon. I'd go crazy."

"You like strangers Jane. They're like playthings. For your amusement."

"That's different. You know it is. I just need to be close to friends now."

"Oh Jane. That's such a laugh. All these years I've been telling you you have friends who care about you and you've constantly pushed us away. It's taken something like this to make you realise."

"And that's exactly why you should let me come home to you, Theresa."

Something nagged at the back of her mind as she looked into his haunted eyes and she sensed a deeper motivation and unmistakable sincerity. It made her forget that she was trying to be angry.

" Jane, there's something else isn't there?" she asked gently, searching the depths of his ocean for some hint, "I mean, you got your book back. You left it on your couch."

"Yes, I must have."

_But you don't believe what I told you… you think I made the whole thing up…you think I'm losing it again after Lorelei…_

"But there is something else, isn't there? Van Pelt told me the state you were in this morning when she arrived. She was very worried you know. She said you were right on the edge, they had to bribe you to eat. And I don't think it was just about the book Jane. Did something else happen ?"

_God Jane, just open up to me…_

"No Lisbon. Nothing else happened. I just want to come home. That's all."

_If I thought you'd believe me I'd tell you the rest… and I will when the time's right ... _

"I just want to come home."

The plaintive melancholy that deadened his voice to a softness barely above a whisper spoke of a man who hadn't had a home for over ten years.

"We'll work something out then," she conceded.

She finally allowed her features to dissolve into a smile when she saw his relief at her promise give him permission to relax back into his pillows, noticed him imperceptibly loosen his tight grip on the little black book under the pale blue bedcover. It wasn't really in her nature to be unkind. He just brought out the worst in her, but now he needed her.

She watched him for a few minutes, allowing the silence to float between them before she commented supportively, "You've had a busy day haven't you?"

Then, seeing the heavy weight of weariness tugging at his eyelids she added, "You look very tired."

"You could say that, yes, and I am a little sleepy."

He wondered how simply being awake all afternoon could make him feel so worn when he would normally exist on cat naps and adrenaline. He didn't really care. Now.

_home tomorrow…_

"You'll stay a bit longer though, won't you? … don't mind if I nod off."

"Yes, I'll stay," she assured him, "and I'll be back first thing in the morning."

"You'll bring me some clothes?"

"Yes, I'll find you something to wear,"

But he was already asleep.

Lisbon watched over her consultant for half an hour, while he tossed and turned his head from side to side, and protectively and repetitively tightened his grasp on the precious book hidden under his covers.

She listened to him mumbling occasionally, insistently and anxiously … _in my pocket…always…never leave it …was in my pocket …not crazy…_

When the warm afternoon sun that striped through the blinds, started to lose it's strength and fade to grey, she laid her fingertips tentatively on the smooth skin of Jane's one unblemished cheek, comforting herself that she saw the faintest hint of blush returning.

She told herself that she shouldn't wake him, it felt like a betrayal to sneak away without his knowledge, without saying goodbye, but he was sleeping calmly now and didn't stir.

"I'll see you in the morning Patrick."

The cell phone was out of her pocket before the door was closed behind her and the text was typed out before the down elevator arrived.

"Meeting at O'Malley's. Eight O'clock. Need your help with something. Come if you can."

* * *

**What do you think?**

**More variety in the next chapter….. The team, Jane goes home and more!**

**Love to hear if I'm still hitting the mark.**

**XX**


	8. Change of Heart

**Once again my apologies for not thanking my lovely reviewers personally, it's so lovely to get such great comments tho'.**

**Had problems with this chapter… I have trouble writing 'the team', perhaps it's because I'm English not American….. anyway hope you will forgive me if it's rubbish… Enjoy!**

* * *

A feathery touch tickled Jane's cheek as he slept, so he wriggled his nose and thoughtlessly brushed the irritation away with the back of his hand, mumbling something about fairy dust. Charlotte must have woken early.

_Go back to bed baby girl_ …

But the touch that roused him from his fitful slumber belonged in the present not in the darkness of his dreams and so it gently drew him into the cold reality of that present. The present he could not escape from.

He thought he heard the turning of a door handle, slow and careful. Someone trying not to wake him. He opened one heavy eyelid and spied the disappearing silhouette of the culprit.

Lisbon slipped silently away and down the corridor before he could gather enough words to form a coherent sentence and he found himself lying there with his mouth open, in limbo, listening to the last wisps of a sad deflated sigh dissolving into the air with no one to pay them any attention but himself.

The room felt too big and too silent, with nothing to fill the time and space. The machines that had been his companions until just before lunchtime had mostly been removed and their constantly variable beeps, which had reminded him that he was alive and punished him when he misbehaved, were replaced by the sterility of silence. He even missed the metronomic beep that had accompanied him when he was calm and had alternately annoyed or soothed him, depending on his mood.

Now the silence was painful and the space was infinite.

He needed someone to talk to, so he pressed the call button.

Cindy didn't come immediately, but when she did she came with a sheaf of papers, a scent of spring and a little cup containing pills. He noticed that her makeup was stronger today, her lipstick a shade brighter vermilion, her subtle russet shadow lending her eyes an even bluer blue.

"Hi Patrick," she sang, "I was coming to see you anyway. Dr Brownloe has written you up some iron pills, you're a touch anaemic."

She placed the paper work on the bottom of his bed and filled the glass with some water from the jug on the side table. He pushed the little book deeper under the covers, reluctantly setting it free to nestle against his body where he could still be certain of its precious presence, then he slowly withdrew his hands, smoothing the edge of the cover securely in place. She handed him the water and dropped two red pills into his outstretched palm. He accepted them obediently and wondered why. It wasn't very like him to be so unquestioning.

... _Never mind … _

"What's the matter, can I get you something?" she asked soothingly. "You look a little forlorn. Are you lonely?"

He thought a bit before replying, "Yeah, I guess you could say that. I think it's the first time I've woken up to silence. No one here. No beeping. Spooked me a bit," he answered her quite honestly.

It surprised him, that after so many years alone, one way and another, whether alone in a cold dusty attic, alone in an impersonal motel room, or on an old brown couch in the empty bullpen, he could feel such aching isolation in a warm hospital room with a buzzing hive of workers just outside the door.

_Maybe it's because it's a white room…_

"I wouldn't worry. After what you've been through, it's bound to have some psychological effect, you're going to be a little bit low. Some people feel like this because they can't get out of bed, they feel trapped. Anyway …" she continued with a brighter, more encouraging voice, "you might be out of here tomorrow."

His doubt almost immediately attached itself to that one word like a leech on an open wound. Was it just semantics? Did she mean 'will' or was 'might' a deliberate choice?

"What do you mean 'might'," he leapt in. "I've seen the doctor. He said I was fine. That social worker ticked all the boxes on her questionnaire. I answered all the questions correctly. So exactly where does 'might' fit in?"

Cindy simply smiled back "It's only a word Patrick…"

_... she keeps calling me Patrick!_

"You shouldn't over analyse so much. What does it matter whether it's today or tomorrow or the day after tomorrow?"

"It matters" he answered her with the gravity of one who knows the ultimate and purest truth.

"Well yes, of course it does, but your discharge papers can't be signed yet. The social worker needs to be sure that you can manage your 'personal affairs', so I have to observe you while you get out of bed and visit the bathroom alone. She won't sign you off until I'm happy that you can manage."

"Why does that matter? I'll have help. I told them that."

"Yes and I think you told them a lot of other stuff too. Didn't you?" she grinned in sneaky admiration at the most confusingly audacious man she had ever experienced. "Or was your friend telling tales when she said you live alone in a motel room?"

"Who told you that?"

"You know very well who. That red headed colleague of yours."

"Oh, you mean Grace. Well now, Grace is far too warm hearted for her own good. She went through a rather nasty experience a while back, I thought it had given her a harder edge, but it seems not. I expect she was trying to buy me some more time in here, you know, looking after my interests. Conning me into eating. That sort of thing. You really shouldn't take too much notice," he bestowed his most charmingly honest smile on her and waited, hands casually resting in his lap.

_Sorry Grace…_

"I saw you this morning Patrick. You looked rough," the perky blonde countered, "Don't deny it!"

"Well that's as may be. I was tired, and impaired by the effects of illegally administered narcotics," Jane replied bluntly, adding with one of his condescending smiles, "But I'm a different man now, aren't ?"

He saw nothing wrong with using the truth, in fact it was usually the most trouble free option even though underutilised in his case. And the truth was he had been tired; tired, resentful and angry. But he'd decided it was necessary to feel better now. So he played the role of 'a different man'.

_... time to wind this conversation up… she's not the one signing the papers..._

"Anyway, I think we'd better get on with this 'independent bathroom visit' experiment, don't you? Because if I'm not mistaken it's nearly time for supper and I'm absolutely famished." he said.

Jane's hand darted back under the bedclothes while the nurse was temporarily distracted by the dazzling grin he surprised her with. He quickly retrieved his book to tuck it furtively in between the two thin pillows, away from prying eyes when he pulled back the bedcover.

The bathroom visit, it transpired was rather a rude awakening.

Jane soon discovered that sliding your bottom from a bed (even one lowered in height by an efficient nurse) and onto a wheelchair seat, at the same time trying to manhandle two heavy plaster logged legs without falling on the floor, was something that needed practise. The fact that his upper body strength was severely compromised by his injuries and he felt like screaming with the pain, made the manoeuvre nigh on impossible. But even though many would deny it, Patrick Jane was, when the chips were down, a very determined person: he struggled manfully and patiently and succeeded.

Once safely in the chair he sat for a few minutes while Cindy watched him panting, coughing and sweating like an old man. She didn't pass comment, nor change her benign expression. He idly wondered if there was a hidden streak of sadism lurking under that sugar sweet coating. Or maybe she was just doing her job.

…_leaving an old man to struggle, you bitch …well you're as old as you feel... about eighty then..._

The 'drive' to the bathroom was marginally more successful, apart from the supermarket trolley wheels the chair seemed to be equipped with, and the fact that they steered him a little off centre of the bathroom doorway causing a minor collision between his left foot and the frame. It provoked an internal stream of obscenities which he was sure would have given Lisbon a whole store cupboard full of ammunition to use against him in the future; if she had been privy to them. Like the gentleman he'd always wished he was he substituted the obscenities, as he vocalised them, for mild self admonishments and merely grumbled quietly.

_... fuck, Jane that's agony…take some driving lessons…and stop cursing…_

_... doesn't matter she can't hear you …idiot…_

Cindy stifled a giggle then replaced it with an encouraging smile.

He had the same level of difficulty in transferring to the 'ergonomically designed for all levels of disability' toilet. Then followed the embarrassing fight to pull his underpants down just far enough, do the necessary, clean himself up and reposition the underwear. All this was performed under the cloudy prospect of having to do the same assault course back to the soft haven of bed in reverse, avoiding a repeat of his minor road traffic accident.

The whole exercise took the grand total of seventeen minutes.

_... and you didn't really need to go…_

Ordeal over he gingerly settled himself as comfortably as possible and just lay with eyes closed, muscles aching, leg throbbing and heart racing and waited while Cindy gently covered him.

"Well done Patrick," she smiled at him, looking up from the forms she had been filling in.

"Did I pass?"

"Yes, you did, by the skin of your teeth, but it'll be easier every time and I won't make you do it on your own again until you leave. Fancy a cup of tea?"

_... so maybe not a sadist then…_

But still he felt there was something a little off kilter with his angel today, maybe he'd been replaced in her affections by some new favourite patient, maybe he was losing his touch.

When she left to make him his tea and find out why the evening meals were late, Jane slipped a hand up between the two miserably skimpy synthetic pillows to find his little black ( and red) book. He placed it carefully under cover by his side, making sure he could feel it's familiar hardness against his flesh and then he daydreamed about the prospect of the soft goose down pillows he hoped Lisbon would have.

xx

xx

O'Malley's bar was, as always, buzzing with workers letting off steam and quenching their thirst after a hard day's work and, as such, was the perfect place for team meetings where privacy was important but the subject matter not of interest to the general public. The atmosphere was congenial and warm and the snacks where homely if not sophisticated, so it also suited Lisbon's purpose for this particular get together.

The other members of the CBI team sat in a subtly lit corner at the rear of the room, away from the bar. It was quieter here and more private.

"It's about Jane, isn't it," Rigsby started the conversation by stating the obvious. He put down his glass after the first long swallow of ale.

"Probably. Usually is." Cho replied, glancing down at his watch. "She's late. He must be playing up."

"That's unfair Cho," the pretty redhead berated her colleague, "He's having a hard time."

She looked up, smiled and waved a hand in greeting when she spotted Lisbon pushing her way towards them through the groups of drinkers with her usual business like determination.

Rigsby rose from his seat and pulled over a vacant chair from an adjacent table for Lisbon, "Can I get you a drink Boss?" he asked.

"Thanks Rigs, I'll just have a coke. I don't want to get into drinking tonight. There's a bit of organising to be done,"

She settled into the seat and shrugged off her jacket, pushing it back so that the chair became it's wearer. She leant forward and rested her slim forearms on the edge of the table, still damp with antibacterial spray after a cursory wipe down between customers. The wetness made her cringe and snatch her arms away to rest in her lap awkwardly. She'd wait for the table to dry.

"Thanks for coming Grace, Kimball. I appreciate it," she started "Let's wait for Wayne to get back, then we can talk."

VanPelt smiled warmly at her boss, "That's OK, we don't have anywhere else to be. Do we boys?"

Cho raised his eyebrows, confirming without actually moving or speaking. "Rigsby did, but it was only the laundrette," he looked up as the man returned.

The tall agent flashed Cho an exasperated frown. He dragged his chair out, sat down and placed Lisbon's coke in front of her.

She studied the condensation forming on the outside of the glass and wondered whether there was more ice than coke inside, before leaning forward once more onto the drying table and coming straight to the point.

"I need your help with Jane," she said simply.

"That's what we thought," Cho, always the spokesman, answered for the others.

"He's presented me with something of a fait accompli," she announced with a matter of fact tone that tried hard to suppress the mild panic brought on by the prospect of an invalid Jane hanging around her apartment for months, being waited on hand and foot and doubtless in need of other more personal help.

Cho felt a sharp kick to his ankle from the other side of the table and caught Rigsby's helpless wide eyed 'out of my depth with that language' look. He calmly supplied the answer for his floundering teammate.

"You mean he's talked you into something you can't get out of ?" he suggested.

Lisbon looked down into her glass and swirled the ice cubes round to mix the contents, the chinking knocking of solid water against transparent sand holding her spellbound for a second or two before she took a long draught from her coke. She wasn't really that keen on sodas at all but the sweetness was energising and the fizz refreshing.

She inhaled a deep breath and began to explain the reason they would all be agreeing to extra duties over the next few weeks. The one thought that bolstered her resolve to ask this sacrifice of them, for with her consultant involved she knew it **would** be a sacrifice, was the fact that she had no doubt at all of their agreement.

"Jane has managed to cajole and connive his way into having himself released from the hospital tomorrow. Apparently he's convinced them that he has somewhere to go that has facilities appropriate for his needs and as much support as necessary," she paused for a breath and another gulp of her drink.

"Furthermore he has managed to persuade me that my apartment is to become his convalescent home and I am to be his nurse for the duration of his recovery." She finished on a sort of strangled crescendo of quiet frustration.

Three mouths fell open simultaneously.

Cho was, as always, first to recover and first with a pithy remark. "That's not on," he stated "Where's he gonna sleep?"

"Can't you stop him," Rigsby suggested, "Tell them they have to keep him, til he's able to go home. Properly home I mean. To his place."

It hadn't occurred to Lisbon that although VanPelt had been to see the ailing consultant, the male members of her merry band hadn't been kept in the loop regarding Jane's current condition and prognosis. They knew he had bad leg injuries and VanPelt had told them how miserable he had been during her visit, but that he was improving physically. They had probably jumped to the conclusion that a few weeks on crutches would have him dancing rings around beleaguered suspects in the bullpen in no time.

"I don't think we're going to stop him. He's got the whole medical profession wrapped around his little finger," she told them.

She looked down at the small watch on her wrist. The one Jane used as his own, often casually lifting her hand to glance at the face before discarding it like a piece of litter.

"Besides I don't think I really want him to stay there," she whispered, just loud enough to be heard.

The watch reminded her of her last visit to his bedside. Just before he had fallen asleep she had spied him peeking at her wrist to see what time it was.

All at once her senses were flooded with the haunting image of the beautiful man whose sublime talents, human frailties, cruel flaws and bewitching charms she witnessed daily, who hadn't had a home in nearly ten years, who suffered every moment of every day.

Over and over again in her head came his repeated plea.

_I just want to come home_

Not looking up from her hands, she continued, "He's really got nowhere else to go guys and he's going to have a hard time. I've spoken to the doctor and it looks like he's not going to be putting any weight on those legs for maybe eight weeks, that means a wheelchair, then more time on crutches, then weeks of physiotherapy. It's going to drive him stir crazy."

She raised her head and saw the concern in the three pairs of eyes fixed attentively on her.

"He needs to be with friends and I'm all he's got." She told them.

As she spoke, Lisbon's eyes had grown progressively damper. She blinked furiously, searching the room for some distraction. She stared at the ceiling fan spinning unevenly on it's wobbly axis in the centre near the bar.

Her own desire to present herself as a strong woman instructed her to avoid the sympathetic attention of her companions, although she knew that it was impossible, in any case she soon came to realize that avoidance was unnecessary.

Stunned by the usually feisty woman's rare and open display of emotion Grace leaned forward, enveloping her in a compassionate hug, "Boss don't say that," she said when her slightly embarrassed boss had recovered, "He's got us."

She turned to the two men, pinning them with eyes that managed to be both persuasive and stern.

There was no way they would shirk their responsibility to support Lisbon even if they baulked at the thought of playing nursemaid to a potentially petulant, morose and unpredictable Jane.

"You didn't see him this morning guys, honestly I was shocked. I've never seen him so low. It was like looking at a shadow," she sighed wistfully, "He's gonna need all the help he can get and I don't just mean physically."

The go to adjective most frequently applied to Cho was stoic. He sat there wearing his stoic face and simply answered with a positive, "OK."

Rigsby shuffled in his seat a little, looking doubtful but solid. Reliable but predictable Rigsby.

"What can we do?" asked he with slight trepidation, "I mean… baby sitting?" He wrinkled his nose at the prospect.

Lisbon's heart leapt for joy at the, albeit frivolous, suggestion. It allowed a smile to escape onto her worried face.

"That's exactly what I mean."

"You can do the diapers then Rigsby. You're the one with experience," quipped the always acerbic Cho.

Lisbon was grateful for the ice breaker, Cho may have had the sharpest of tongues but his loyalty to every member of her team was unquestionable and he had an enviable knack of getting right to the point, hitting the nail on the head and squeezing a laugh from everyone but himself.

She laughed aloud. A slightly subdued laugh. Not a full on belly chuckle but enough to brighten the mood.

"Look guys, all I want from you is some solid backup. To be 'on call' in an emergency. I was thinking maybe some kind of rota. Nothing formal. It would be nice if you could pop in and check on him, keep him company when I'm not there. See if he needs any help. That sort of thing. If he's alone too much he'll brood."

There was a chorus of nods and mutters of "OK." " Sure." "Yes." "Fine."

"I've arranged to have tomorrow at home, so I'll be there when they drop him off and then it's the weekend, but I'd appreciate it if one of you could be around because there are bound to be things I need to get sorted out and I really can't leave him on his own first off."

To her great surprise and pleasure it was Rigsby who spoke up first.

"I'll be up for that. Sarah's got Ben all weekend and I've got nothing else, well except the laundry."

Cho grinned slyly.

VanPelt looked proud.

"That's great Wayne," a relieved Lisbon thanked him with a smile, "I wonder if I could ask you another favour? I forgot to pick up Jane's keys, they're with his things at the hospital, so I can't get into his place to get him some clothes. I shouldn't think he's got anything suitable anyway."

"Nothing but three piece suits and shirts?"

"No, Cho. Probably not," she smiled.

Then turning back to Rigsby, "Wayne do you have any baggy old sweat bottoms and a top he could borrow, just for now?"

"Sure, I'll find something and bring them round to your place first thing."

"Fine. That's good … Oh, just one more thing. I don't want any of you to tell him we've got anything organised. You're just friends dropping by …OK?"

"Absolutely Boss," agreed Grace " …that **is** what we are after all… isn't it?"

It was a rhetorical question ... no answer required ... none given...

"Another drink anyone?" asked Cho.

"On Jane!" grinned Lisbon "I get the cash out of him when I see him."

XX

XX

Jane didn't see anymore of Cindy that night. She had already stayed with him way past her shift end. He was disappointed that she didn't say goodnight, but supposed maybe he had dozed off. He didn't remember her leaving.

His toileting adventure had left him totally exhausted and not a little despondent, a mood that was reflected by a grey cloudy evening which cloaked the whole room in dullness. He closed his eyes to protect himself from his depressing surroundings in more dreams of plump downy pillows and ice cream sundaes shared with Lisbon.

Some time later a light knock on the door dragged him reluctantly out of his drowsiness. He yawned and rubbed a clumsy hand across his eyes, trying to wake himself up.

"Huuh," he groaned, still confused and struggling to sit. He was already stiffening after his exertions.

"You do look tired. I'm sorry, I've disturbed you."

It was Carmina. The same Carmina he'd taken an instant dislike to only twenty four hours ago. Tonight she didn't seem so foreboding. She carried a tray bearing his food and Cindy's pink tea mug.

_... maybe it's the cup or maybe she's just in a better mood … could even be I'm in a better mood_

"I've brought you your meal," she said, placing the tray down and coming to help him get comfortable. "I'm sorry about our little altercation last night. It was unprofessional. I think we'd both had a bad day. Your behaviour was understandable. Mine was not. I'm sorry."

Jane noticed that the rather severe looking woman had arranged her hair in a more feminine style today.

"You're forgiven. My bad," he gave her a warm, but rather weary smile, "I have a reputation for moodiness."

…_and rudeness…and craziness…_

"I'll leave you to it then." She told him, "Just buzz if you need me. I'll be in before you go to sleep."

…_she's really not so bad, just not a smiler …not a born carer…just a job…to feed the kids…_

The evening meal was a beef based pasta dish, which he thought rather heavy for the time of night, and he wasn't feeling very hungry, but he drank the tea with relish and it did wonders in encouraging a fair amount of the pasta to disappear.

He sat and made patterns with his fork in the remaining food while the other hand fiddled with the little book, still secreted away by his side, rubbing his forefinger up and down the edges in absentminded affection.

He thought about tomorrow and going home and how he was going to sleep tonight.

…_but you've got the book…if you can't sleep…_

About twenty minutes later came another knock. It was Carmina. He recognised the distinctive way she tapped, briskly but quietly, about six taps, a pause, then enter.

She'd come to get his tray and do his checks, but she didn't come empty handed. She came with a smile and a large bouquet of flowers.

Sunflowers.

Huge, bright, beautiful sunflowers.

"Somebody had these delivered for you. Lovely aren't they?" she told him cheerfully, "Shall I put them in water for you?"

"No. Thank you. Bring them here. I'd like to have a look at them first. I love flowers," he sniffed deeply. "Do sunflowers smell?"

Of all the flowers he loved, Jane had a special affection for sunflowers. An affinity. He identified with the mythical romantic notion that the open faces of the flowers turned to the sun each day.

A misconception of course; perhaps the plant's French name 'Tournesol' had given birth to the legend of it's heliotropic nature, literally 'turn to the sun'.

Whatever the case, Jane related to the sunflower like no other bloom. Like the tournesol he would take every opportunity to turn his own face and spread his arms wide to drink in the god given light of the sun, the source of all energy, to recharge his soul and clear his mind.

He studied the flowers for a while, marvelling at the spiralling seeds, each one a new life, organised in a tight circle and surrounded by ragged flames of brightest golden yellow.

"Is there a card Carmina?" he asked, suddenly wondering who could be thinking of him.

…_not one of the team…no one from CBI…Mashburn…maybe…Bret Stiles…possibly…wonder if I made the news…_

Carmina fished around among the wrappings and finally produced a small cream envelope, the standard florist's message type but slightly bigger he thought. She handed it to him and he opened it with caution.

Inside was a folded card in the same cream, with a verse typed in a classic script on the front.

He read it in silence.

_Ah Sunflower! Weary of time,_

_Who counteth the rays of the sun,_

_Seeking after that sweet golden clime,_

_Where the travellers journey is done._

He didn't remember having read those words before, but the style and the message was unmistakable.

Hesitating to open the card, he turned it over and examined the back. It was blank. He turned to read the verse again.

Carmina watched the last vestiges of colour drain from his face and noticed the slight tremble as eventually his fingers fumbled to separate the two pages and look inside.

The message was written in the same font, but this time in blood red.

_So pleased to see you're going home, _

_maybe we'll be able to have that little chat soon!_

_Oh I forgot to ask, did you like what I did to Lorelei?_

_And all your fault._

_Look after your self Patrick._

Time and his breathing seemed to freeze until he became gradually more aware of a faint voice and the tightness in his chest.

"Mr Jane !... Mr Jane!... are you OK?" the matronly nurse asked gently but insistently.

He dropped the little card as if it would burn his fingers like a shard of steel pulled red hot from a blacksmiths furnace. It fluttered to the ground beside his bed, the miniature pages still open, taunting him with a blurry glimpse of the crimson lettering.

The flowers still sat in front of him glowing, golden in the diminishing evening light.

It was then that he noticed the wrapping.

Sheets of transparent red cellophane, shining flames of scarlet, licking up around the gold in a blaze of fiery irony. And a silky scarlet ribbon, tied in an opulent bow, like the smaller bows Angela used to tie in Charlotte's hair.

His heart began to pull the bones of his chest apart, thumping against it's battered walls, aching for escape. Eyes wild and breath coming in harsh angry bursts he lashed out at the offending bouquet sending it sliding across the tiled floor. He shrieked at the woman standing transfixed in front of him.

"Take them away! Anywhere!... I don't care where!...Just get rid of them… Now!"

Carmina obeyed instantly.

She left the card staring up at Jane. Displaying _his _message.

He clenched his fists and closed his eyes tight shut trying painfully to ignore it and regain control of his body.

After a few moments, one hand relaxed and slipped under the soft blue cover to seek the company of the little black book. It closed around the slippery cover, polished with constant handling and found comfort and a sudden flash of insight.

Slowly a wide, tight lipped smile grew on Jane's lips when the realisation dawned and his eyes brightened with new found life.

_She has to believe me now …it's proof… right there in black and white …and red_

When Carmina returned not two minutes later, Jane was quite calm, some would say serene, as if nothing had ever happened.

"Could you pick up the card for me Carmina," he asked her sweetly, "I'd like to keep it."

"Of course," she said and bent down to retrieve it. She tucked the card away into it's envelope and placed it in front of him. He picked the envelope up and slid it deftly in between the pages of his hidden notebook, quickly returning both hands to rest loosely in his lap.

"I'm going to check you over now, if that's OK. It's getting late," she told him, "You're alright now?"

Jane observed Carmina as she stood patiently awaiting his answer.

_... she's efficient …that's what she is… I misjudged her…losing my touch…_

"Yeah, I'm fine. Never better," he assured her at last with a slow smile.

"Your pulse is a little fast and your BP's a bit high. But that's hardly surprising, is it? You need to relax," she told him.

"Hmm," he nodded meekly, "I do… Did Cindy leave her cup lying about, I could really use a cup of tea?"

"I'll see if I can find it. Is there anything else I can get you? Do you think you might be able to sleep tonight?"

"I thought I'd read for a bit. I found my book you know," he revealed to the woman who had delivered Red John's message, "But maybe a sleeping pill or something might help too."

He had a feeling the dreams wouldn't be so bad tonight.

* * *

**I had a real struggle with this chapter, so I'd appreciate any feedback, positive or negative ….**

**Just let me know your thoughts… pretty please!**


	9. Pros and Cons

**I'm so sorry for the delay in posting and indeed for not replying to the reviews for last chapter. That chapter was a real battle for me so I was very grateful for the lovely comments I had.**

**I was hit by a huge crisis of confidence and a nagging feeling that the story was failing to keep your attention … I took a few days off from writing and since I started again this week I've come to realise that the story will have it's own way and I should write what I feel is right not what I think might satisfy the customers as it were.**

**Anyway, this chapter is slightly shorter again … it came to a natural break and to carry on to the next one would make it very long and probably not finished until next week.**

**Hope you enjoy!**

**By the way I don't own anything to do with the Mentalist … do you think I could buy it ….I'd be able to make Simon do anything I desire !**

* * *

Being the smartest person in the room Jane had no doubts about his decision making ability. It was simple. He would examine, observe and assimilate the information, discard the impossible, embrace the probable and the possible, weigh up the pros and cons and leave his intuition to find the answer.

He found his intuition was almost unerringly correct.

Tonight, however, was a different matter. Another kettle of fish.

And the question was, in truth, so simple.

To take the sleeping pill that now sat before him next to a freshly poured glass of water … or not.

All he really had to do was to make it through the night and present a cheerful picture of rude health, ready and fit to be discharged in the morning.

He had not forgotten that Dr Brownloe might very well have second thoughts about signing the papers if he didn't look good, but worse, infinitely worse, was his irrational fear that Lisbon, when she came in, would take one look at him and spurn any notion of taking him into the bosom of her homely but functional little apartment.

He had to present a well rested, perky, ready for any challenge, unstoppable Patrick Jane.

He simply could not contemplate a night like the previous two, whose horrors had left him questioning his own sanity, unable to face food, physically exhausted and unable to look a soul in the eye without seeing the very essence of evil.

Those two nights even had him doubting his own loyal Teresa.

Aside from the bare fact that he didn't think he himself could withstand another such night, Lisbon was the most pressing of his worries.

Of course, his whole being was steeped in the certain knowledge of her loyalty to him. He knew as certainly as he knew his own name that he could trust her to stand beside him as his partner and best friend. He knew she would be there for him in his present predicament, in spite of whatever her cop's brain told her was illogical or could not be evidentially substantiated in the 'story' he had tried to tell her.

_and it's not a 'story' … it's the truth …as I know it…_

_so just trust her_

_she wont reject you_

Nevertheless the buoying injection of optimism he had been given just minutes earlier was already fading.

He'd secreted his enemy's cruel message away in between the pages of his book, clinging to the hope offered by the physical proof it presented, but almost as soon as Carmina had bid him goodnight after bringing his prescribed iron pills, the promised sleeping pill and a fresh cup of tea, that hope deserted him.

She had smiled at him in a surprisingly tender way that made him yearn for a motherly hug, despite the fact that their years were chronologically not so very different. He had just felt so like a little boy whose only need was the warmth of the soft reassuring encircling of maternal arms. No agendas. Only comfort. Jane just needed a hug. The whole world surely knew by now that he was hugger not a huggee, but he needed one then.

Carmina had promised to look in later to check that he was alright, but as pleasant as she had been, when she turned to leave him he had caught that reflected evil in her eyes and the yen for a hug turned on it's heels and hid in a corner.

He'd thought he'd glimpsed the same look in his sweet angel Cindy when she'd greeted him in her alluringly becoming makeup that morning.

The same evil he'd seen mirrored in the dark beady eyes of the social worker.

The evil he saw in every one in this place…

_... paranoia Jane… just tired paranoia and over thinking…_

It was thinking that presented a problem currently. Whenever he concentrated for more than a few minutes a nagging headache began to plague him as it had done since the 'accident'. He'd been assured that their frequency would abate and to be honest they weren't full blown migraine intensity now, just too frequent and debilitating enough to befuddle his train of thought.

He stretched his arms up and tried to massage away the ache, but his reward came in the sharp tugging pain as his ribs lifted to accommodate the stretch, together with a reminder of the tenderness in his shoulder and the soreness that he had been trying to ignore every time he let the lump on the back of his head meet the pillow too abruptly.

He closed his eyes and removed his hands from his head carefully, slowly bringing them to rest in front of him and sat still for a few moments, shoulders slumped and face fallen in a pose of abject despondency. It didn't occur to him that he might ask for stronger pain relief.

…_and I'm sick of my bloody legs aching … and my bum's numb … from sitting … _

… _frustrated… fed up…sick of it … all of it… _

Sad unfocused eyes slowly reopened to meet the surface of the untouched tea. The tea stared back at him and a wisp of lingering steam broke the spell …_drink before I go cold…_

Jane lifted the precious cup, wrapping both hands around it, feeling the warmth on his fingers and noticing the faint sound of gold on china when his ring touched it. He looked down and smiled a ghost of a smile at the sight of his pinkie finger as it gently massaged the ever present symbol of his love; the constant reminder of his one remaining purpose, his only reason for being.

He felt tears welling insistently and, forcing them back with a sniff, he tore his eyes away quickly, feeling conflicting emotions: gnawing guilt, unbearable sadness, undying love and a strange blockage that caught his breath and felt like it just might be hope.

He gulped and the hope sprang forward.

_... but you do have another reason for being …for living…_

The tears refused to be forced back. They sat in salty pools at the corner of his sea green eyes and waited for him to acknowledge the truth.

The truth was that when he heard the world love in his head he thought of Angela and he thought of his beautiful little Charlotte. That would never change, but it was also the truth that these days he didn't think only of them… in relation to the word love.

Jane let one teardrop run down to plop into his cup before he took a deep breath and firmly ushered the rest away. One tear was more than enough of an indulgence.

…_there is a reason for being…if you accept it…_

He drained the last of the tea, put the cup down and rubbed the warmth remaining in his hands into his face.

He felt better now and there was a decision to be made.

Pill or no pill?

There were pro and cons.

Pro: … The pill would give him a better chance of falling asleep sooner, therefore he would probably get more sleep and so possibly look more rested in the morning, which was after all the aim.

Con: … What sort of sleep would it be?

He didn't trust the kind of sleep delivered by drugs. He had this weird feeling that the dreams he experienced under the influence of drugs were not to be trusted. He no longer called them nightmares, since his dreams were always that, so he now referred to them all simply as dreams. He felt sure that drug induced dreams emanated from somewhere other than his own subconscious, that they were not based in reality.

It was this conviction that fuelled his growing doubt over his visit from Red John only last night, which had been after his row over the book with Carmina. He couldn't be sure if it was real or a spiteful dream (nightmare), a side effect of the sedative that had been forced on him.

Pro: … Would he even get to sleep without the pill?

If he didn't get any sleep he would certainly look rubbish in the morning and as good as he was at donning a jovial carnival mask good enough to satisfy most audiences, he wasn't able to magically restore the leaden bags that would surely hang beneath his bloodshot eyes and he would never be able to fool the savvy Ms Lisbon.

Besides, secretly he was becoming heartily sick of trying to fool her. He was tired of it. It had to stop. But some habits are hard to break…

…_is it really a habit though … who are you kidding…you don't even know yourself anymore…_

…_do you Jane ? _

…_you listening?_

Con: … If he didn't take the pill he could use his time productively. Tire himself to the point where he could fall asleep naturally. So maybe the total hours slept wouldn't add up to much, but he'd bet they'd be more restful. The dreams (nightmares) would be more trustworthy. Maybe…

Maybe … if what had been happening recently wasn't in fact the result of his mind spinning down the dark vortex of insanity.

That was a thought that kept bouncing back and forth like a red rubber ball. Someone was playing catch against the crumbly walls of his memory palace. It was shaking his confidence. Swinging his mood back and forth.

That throbbing headache he'd been holding manfully at bay began to pushing it's way back in, pushing away the desire to explore more pros and cons. It was unproductive to keep chasing his own mind round in circles.

…_three cons to one measly pro…that sounds like a resounding win… oh ... wasn't it two cons to two pros ... oh, who cares ..._

He didn't want to sleep yet ... didn't dare...

He ignored the sleeping pill, picked up the two small red iron pills, flushed them down with a swig of water and sent his hand under cover to retrieve his little book of hopefulness from where it nestled warmly at his side.

…_two or three minutes to fix this head … then to work…_

Laying his head back gently, eyes lightly closed, he once again pushed the tension from his body. Starting with the very top of his head he relaxed every muscle until he could feel the gentle waves of his willpower soothing even the tips of his fingers and toes. Gradually the pain that gripped his temples and made his scalp pulsate abated and he opened his eyes.

Then he opened the book.

There were four hundred and eight names yet to have thick black lines drawn through them. He'd discounted the women and the brief encounters, but hadn't had time to finish research on the Elliston Farm revelations, so there were probably still many more to be discarded, but he couldn't be sure.

In the past two days he had heard the voice of Red John on two separate occasions. Of course this was always assuming that he was indeed 'in his right mind', not having auditory hallucinations, but he was practically convinced that he was pretty much sane.

The dubious state of his mind was another situation where there were many pros and cons to be considered, but to be left to another time … he had his important 'pro' now … the card that he would be able to show Lisbon when he set about convincing her that his story wasn't a figment of his stressed imagination. The product of a tortured mind conjuring up a spectre of Red John and a whole story to accompany him, a mind tortured enough to send him tumbling to near death simply because it had been ripped to shreds trying and failing to find the real man.

He hadn't heard Red John's voice for nearly a year now and then only remotely, through a cell taped to a helpless victim, and the only time he had heard it prior to that was three years ago, when he sat helplessly tied to a chair by food wrap ... a quivering mess ... _tyger, tyger burning bright ..._

While it was a voice indelibly imprinted onto every cell of his brain, it was good to have a refreshed version to work with.

Twice in two days!

It seemed insane that he hadn't methodically gone through the names on his list, how could there be more than a few voices there that could match that embodiment of the distillation of pure evil?

There were four hundred and eight names.

All he had to do was to locate each person in his memory palace, play back the voice and …_hey presto _… easy!

He figured he could allow about thirty seconds per person, some longer, some shorter but the whole job could be done in about four hours.

Even without the benefit of Lisbon's watch he was pretty good at estimating the passage of time, in fact he only used it to amuse himself and aggravate her. It made him smile; gave him a warm glow inside when the lack of resistance in her wrist as he lifted it gave implicit permission to touch her.

It must be about ten thirty by now so he could be finished by two thirty, giving him four or five hours good sleeping time.

With the satisfaction of a job well done and undoubtedly progress made he knew he would sleep the sleep of the just and wake up refreshed and looking good… ish.

Unfortunately, the best laid plans of mice and men and, sometimes, even Jane, don't inevitably fall into place just as they should.

This was one such occasion.

Save for the effort he had made to find the details of what he was now calling 'the accident', when he dredged up hazy recollections to recount to Lisbon, his memory palace had remained virtually unvisited. He was having trouble enough coping with the _now_ without poking around in the past. Sure, plenty of snippets of information, both welcome and uncalled for, had slipped out through gaps in the walls and windows left carelessly open, but the past two days had not been the time to torture himself by scrabbling around in the complicated depths of a place specifically constructed to keep separate the good and the bad.

He had a feeling of uncertainty as he pushed open the heavy front door and turned left to the sunny reception area where he expected to find the owner of the first name on his list.

The palace had been built in a grand old casino his father had smuggled him into once when he was a small boy. It was an old and exotic warren of rooms, some huge, some smaller but each one individual and colourful. Some noisy with the harsh sounds of coins tumbling, bells ringing and buzzing. Some mysterious, dark, smoky and smelling of whisky, laced with the intrigue of bluff and counter bluff. An ideal place for populating with characters and reminiscences.

He'd never forgotten the bright lights and excitement and had selected it as the ideal storage place when he'd found the fairground he'd used for years suddenly became saturated with the scents and sounds of Angela and Charlotte.

At the fairground every tent flap had peeled back to allow the escape of a waft of coal tar or strawberries and cream. When he climbed onto a carousel or rode the big dipper the noisy fairground organs played Bach. Even the fortune teller's tiny candy striped tent where he'd spent many happy hours gazing into Madame Lulu's crystal ball, imagining his rosy future, had delicate piano sonatas playing quietly in the background.

The move from fairground to casino had taken days to complete and he'd wondered at the time if his colleagues had been concerned about his preoccupation. It had been just after he joined the CBI and Lisbon's encouragement had given him the impetus to begin to turn his life around.

The man he expected to be standing behind the glitzy desk in the Casino Carrera was nowhere to be found. In fact the place was unattended. Maybe it wasn't that important.

…_he's in the john…_

The next man on the list should be in the cloakroom, helping customers find bags and coats. It was chaos. There were far too many people jostling for attention. He spotted a couple who should have been sitting at one of the blackjack tables in the upper floor gaming room. They were arguing with the man he was looking for, but they were not suspects so he ignored them and eavesdropped on the thin dark haired man who he'd met while on a case in Reno. His voice was deep and mellifluous, incongruously so in such a weedy individual. He remembered that he didn't like the man, but the voice was all wrong.

Jane's lips curved into the hint of a smile and his pen erased one name from the four hundred and eight.

His next candidate should have been resting in the staff lounge, having a sneaky cigarette.

He wasn't.

He was in the corridor outside. And he was definitely not Red John, his southern drawl could be disguised but the underlying lisp that speech therapy couldn't fix, could not.

One more stuck from the list.

After more than an hour Jane had located only thirty two of the men he was certain were hidden away inside his head. Seventeen had been deleted and the rest had earned a reprieve, they were now elevated to the realms of 'very similar', 'possibly disguised' or 'can't be certain'.

Jane began to turn the next page slowly, unthinkingly and as he did, his lids fluttered, his head began to droop unbidden down and to the side until, when his chin came almost to meet his chest, it snapped back up with a painful start.

He blinked frantically, pushing his eyes open wide and fumbling to find the pen he'd allowed to fall from his hand as he drifted off.

Furrowing his brow in a vain attempt to concentrate he traipsed unsteadily off down the grand staircase of his messed up palace, with it's overly vivid, patterned carpet and opulent crystal chandeliers, to find his next target. The man should be playing the last on the left of the row of pinball machines in the main public gaming room.

He wasn't.

…_you should have known this place would be a mess …have to…get…a … housekeee…p... _

Disappointment squeezed the last drop of energy from him.

Heavy lids drifted inexorably down to protect sore, weary eyes and soft blond curls fell back to rest at last.

Jane's body had made it's own decision.

He would sleep.

He felt and heard nothing more that night other than the slightly unreal sensation of his bed head dropping to sleeping position and the little black book being gently prised from his limp fingers to be placed safely on the bedside table.

Carmina carefully released the bedcover from under his arms, letting her hand linger against their chilly flesh, and pulled it up around his sleeping form. Jane didn't move, he just snuffled and wriggled his nose as if irritated by the touch and scent of a drifting petal.

She wondered at how vulnerable he looked, with his pale skin and cherub's hair, and his cheek marred by that angry dark graze.

She thought how much he could use a good motherly hug.

* * *

**I had hoped Jane would be going home in this chapter! But I really enjoyed writing this scene and didn't want to cut it short.**

**I'm sorry!**

**Next time ….. Jane goes home ….. so plenty of Jane and Lisbon from here on in ….if you have the patience to follow me… and more on RJ's friend/s … who are they?**

**Once again I really need to know if I'm hitting the mark or where I've lost the plot.**


	10. Peacock

**Firstly thanks again to all my reviewers …. love to get some feed back from non regulars too. Special thanks to Katrina, Mossi, Jul73 and HayseedSocrates for your continued support.**

**I'd hoped this chapter would be up sooner, but unfortunately during a spell when the words wouldn't flow and the updates here on TMfanfic were a little thin I started re reading Little Stars, an amazing ( as yet unfinished ) piece by Kourion. **

**It's very long and I couldn't stop …. so I let the writing slip.**

**Anyway it's done now. Hope you like….**

* * *

Hospital routines are what they are. Set in stone, even in their inconvenience, and they are inevitable, inescapable. They don't care if you don't want to breakfast at some ungodly hour like seven, when you've been up half the night, being pestered by well meaning professionals waking you up to check that you're still alive.

Miraculously last night hadn't been like that, Jane had actually slept like the proverbial baby; a natural non assisted slumber born out of the honest, hard earned tiredness of work and the hopeful anticipation of escape into the familiar arms of Lisbon and the team.

How appropriate that phrase: for they truly were his only real family and he could almost feel the metaphorical strength of their collective arms supporting him.

Tiredness and his subconscious mind's unshakeable faith in Lisbon had ultimately won out over the doubt and paranoia that had been festering like sores and had always fuelled his insomnia and stoked the fires that raged in his nightmares. He blamed the recent almost unbearable intensity of his torture on the physical trauma of 'the accident', but such insecurities were merely symptoms of the torment he'd lived with for so many years.

The many and varied symptoms came and went, triggered by cases, birthdays, anniversaries, an odd misjudged comment here, a tune playing in a bar as he passed….. mostly he suppressed the overwhelming pangs of melancholy, the urge to cry out to some all seeing 'mister fix it' for damaged souls, the spooky feeling that someone on every street corner was poking at his guilt with a stick or laughing at the single minded blindness of his so far fruitless chase.

Usually he coped by shutting himself away or sticking on an appropriate smile and survived on catnaps and determination.

So a good night's trouble free sleep, albeit only four or five hours, was a blessing.

For a 'very light sleeper' the extra activity that accompanied the morning change from night staff to day was enough to break the spell and even before the door handle began to twist ever so gently and ever so quietly, Jane was rubbing the crustiness of last night's tears and tiredness from his eyes.

Carmina crept, as silently as she could, to his bedside and stood waiting while he blinked away the mist, swallowed a bit and dampened his night dried lips with his tongue.

When she was satisfied that he was sufficiently awake that her presence would not alarm him, she touched Jane's hand cautiously and smiled,

"Hello sleepy head," she greeted him quietly. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"Uhh ….no…." he mumbled groggily, through a stifled yawn, trying to politely cover his mouth and his confusion while simultaneously getting his bearings. "Always awake …."

"It's just that I know you're going home today and I wanted to say goodbye … wish you well."

Carmina withdrew her hand and watched as Jane struggled to push himself up on his elbows and take in the morning, looking around the room and sucking in a couple of deeper breaths before returning his attention to her and allowing a warm smile some space on his face.

"Yeah. Looking forward to it," he replied, adding mysteriously, "You have no idea how much."

"You ready to sit up?" she asked, moving to adjust the bed. "Or would you like to snatch a little more beauty sleep ….. although I have to say, it looks as if you had a good night. I mean you look much better this morning…. more colour."

"Sit up please," he croaked, reaching shakily to take a sip of water from the glass that Carmina had automatically offered him. It was just dawning on him how much more difficult it could be to drag yourself to full alertness after sleeping well and how heavily muddy his head felt.

He also felt a little uneasy and oddly still unable to function well, but put it down to his deeper sleep, so he let the nurse fuss around plumping pillows and fine tuning the position of his bed while he observed and composed himself.

"Is that OK?" she asked him, when she had finally smoothed the covers to her satisfaction. " Did you sleep well ? I popped in a couple of times to make sure you were alright. You were sleeping the sleep of the dead … and snoring ….. and I see you didn't need the pill. Well done!"

…_whoa … 'the dead' …is that really appropriate…I mean …or am I being over sensitive_

"I don't snore … do I?" he blurted out defensively, unable to quell the feeling that this was all getting a little too personal. A little beyond nurse and patient. He was surprised she didn't call him dear.

His burgeoning unease provoked an urgent need to steer the topic of conversation to something more reassuring. He yawned a long exaggerated yawn and stretched exotically despite being limited by his stiffness. It bought him some breathing space.

"Is it too early for a cuppa, Carmina, my dear?" he asked her pleasantly, pinning the woman with his full beam sunshine smile, laced with just a hint of 'I'm in charge here'.

He watched her patronising veneer melt under it's heat.

It was oh so easy to convey one message with words only to flick it off into another realm of understanding with a variant of the most powerful means of communication known to man; the simple smile.

"I'm parched, as usual …. can't converse before my first brew of the day," he crooned.

A slightly baffled Carmina stepped back and looked down to consult the neat nurses' fob watch that dangled from her tunic pocket.

"Look I have to be going now, but Cindy will be here any minute, I'll make sure she brings you one as soon as she can, you'll be first on her list if I know Cindy."

Soon regaining the momentary loss of her composure she took a step forward again and, softening once more, gave Jane's hand a warm squeeze, "I do hope your recovery goes well Mr Jane," she told him somewhat solemnly from under a half smile. "Take good care of yourself. I don't want to see you back in here."

Her formality made Jane feel at once vaguely creeped out but nevertheless touched. Actually he couldn't altogether figure this woman out.

That was worrying.

As she strode purposefully to the door, Carmina turned and caught Jane's eye, "Bye."

"Bye Carmina and thank you." he answered, adding, apparently as an afterthought. "Oh …say hello to your friend for me, wont you."

The nurse paused for a beat, her expression slightly bemused and her hand stilling on the door handle, but she said nothing and was quickly gone.

Jane wondered briefly if she had heard him before deciding that he was certain she had.

**xxx**

The nurses station is always the gossip hub of any large hospital, and shift changeover time the optimum opportunity to exchange those little nuggets of golden information, the tittle tattle, the juicy who's dating who or would like to be snippets and the downright dangerous Chinese whispers.

That morning was no exception, and the topic of the moment was the eye catching vase of enormous sunflowers dominating the wall end of the desk. There they sat, still enrobed in their scarlet cellophane and their blood red ribbon, but happily sucking up the water from a stylish glass vase.

It was a tall twenty something student nurse who was holding court, enthusiastically distributing information to anyone willing to listen. Abnormally thin and with lank dark brown hair streaming down her back, she waved her long arms about in dramatic gestures as she talked.

"…she said he's mad as a hatter, but very cute, all blond curls and pretty sea green eyes. Smashed his legs up horribly trying to jump out of some window."

"Why?" quizzed a quieter anonymous girl. "Why'd he jump?"

"Apparently half his family was killed in a grizzly murder, drove him mad. Yeah, the flowers arrived last night and he went crazy, wild eyed, …you know. Threw them across the room, but then demanded to keep the card … Random!" she paused briefly to refuel her lungs before continuing. "…hid it away in some tatty little black book he keeps like it's some kind of precious treasure. Won't let anyone near it. Honestly, you'd think it had spells in it. He's not quite right you know. They had to hold him down and drug him the other night…."she rambled on, completely unstoppable.

"Why would you do that … I mean, that _is_ crazy," a serious middle aged woman with tortoise shell rimmed spectacles gestured toward the flowers, "They're beautiful… why wouldn't he want them?"

"I don't know. That's all I heard," the spindly girl answered, gathering her flowing brown hair into a band and turning to greet an attractive blonde who had rushed to join them.

"Hey Cindy," she cried, "_You_ know that weird guy in 134 don't you? You know, the one who won't eat and throws a tantrum if he has to drink from a plastic cup."

"Oh! You mean _Patrick_," came the immediate answer from the blonde with the rosebud lips; his name emphasised, drawn out with mysterious relish.

Cindy laughed and threw her bag on the counter top, "No, Patrick's a pussy cat really," she told her colleagues with the smug certainty of her privileged position, her insight into the star of the morning's entertainment.

"Once you know how to handle him he's a pushover," she crowed. "Wants his tea in a china cup like he's something special and you have to flirt with him, make him feel important, but that's all. He just gets a bit stressed, moody …. depressed."

She glanced knowingly over at the sunflowers, "But if you can make him smile. My god, it's worth listening to any amount of his misery if he gives you one of those smiles."

"That's enough gossiping girls!" boomed the voice of authority from a grey head suddenly protruding around the door adjacent to the nurses station, "On with the day. Chop! Chop!"

The crowd dispersed hurriedly in ones and twos, still whispering and plainly feeding the rumour mill with their speculations, while Cindy pivoted and glared at the skinny student,

"Frankie, you'd better tie that hair up, not just back, and neatly too, before you go on duty," she instructed coldly. Then more conspiratorially, "So, what's he been up to then, you've got five minutes to spill the beans before we start."

**xxx**

They say time flies when you're having fun.

There was no denying that the time did fly that morning, but Jane didn't think he would classify that particular morning as 'fun time'. It wasn't that it was overly 'unfun' either, more busy and not exactly relaxed.

He was tense, as he knew he would be. Fretting about looking his best, his mind constantly darting back to the sorry state of his memory palace, and forward to how he would be able to cope at Lisbon's place.

He knew there would be practical problems, but they'd had to be pushed aside in order to get his own way. To get 'home'.

The trouble was he hadn't considered whether Lisbon was aware of said problems.

… _ah well Jane …love will find a way…that's what they say…_

He'd hardly had time to draw breath before Cindy waltzed in with a cup of tea and an inscrutable smile which she wore all morning. He wondered if you had to be oriental to be inscrutable. Cho was definitely inscrutable.

Jane barely managed to scoop up his book from where Carmina had placed it some time during the night and stow it safely away between his pillows, but to be honest for once it wasn't at the forefront of his thoughts, hiding the book had become a reflexive action, as so many of his actions were.

After a breakfast of eggs, toast and fruit juice, which he had made sure to polish off enthusiastically, leaving a gleaming plate, Cindy asked politely if he'd visited the bathroom yet and offered to help him.

"I'd really appreciate that Cindy," he beamed. "I'm kinda stiff this morning. Slept too well I guess."

"That's to be expected Patrick," she consoled him as she helped him swing his legs out onto the extensions that stuck out from the chair while he shuffled his bottom onto the seat.

Jane smiled sweetly up at her, "I don't suppose you have a comb I could borrow," he asked, tugging at an errant lock to illustrate his point. "Oh, don't worry, my hair's clean. You washed it yourself. Remember? It's just it gets so unruly. I'd like to tidy it up a bit."

"Yeah! …and you're such a mess," she smirked. "Is Ms Lisbon coming in?"

If he'd been a fool he might have thought he detected the merest hint of the green eyed monster in her tone. But it was the whole idea that she thought he felt the need to preen himself for his boss's arrival that made him feel unjustifiably uncomfortable … even if it was true. In fact, more so because it was true.

"Well, now that you mention it she …" he felt the colour begin to rise in his cheeks, "… but that's not the only…"

Cindy seemed to relish his embarrassment as much as the poor man wished he could control it the way he controlled pretty much every thing else.

"Oh, I understand," she told him with a knowing smile, as she reached over his legs to hold the bathroom door open while he pushed himself into the room. She left behind her a lingering and somewhat cloying haze of sweetly floral scent, which stirred the nervous energy already swirling in his stomach into a sudden surge of sickly nausea.

"You do what you have to do and park yourself by the mirror and I'll go find one."

Five minutes later Jane was carefully titivating his crowning glory with a small, lilac coloured, nylon bristled, ladies hairbrush. He gently directed the wayward curls, as best he could with no gel or mousse, wetting the brush first and being cautious around the sight of his injury, feeling with his fingers first because he couldn't get himself into a position to view the back of his head, seated as he was by necessity, sideways on to the mirror.

He examined himself anxiously, showing a wide toothy smile to check he'd polished his teeth to gleaming perfection, then readdressed the curls, adjusting one of the tighter ones that adorned his temples and persuaded it to sit beguilingly on it's own like a tempting little kiss.

…_narcissistic…moi? …necessary, dear boy …means to an end, as always…_

Staring back at the man in the mirror he frowned at the ugly graze that he could do nothing about and was now skirted by the various colours of a very murky rainbow as the bruising began to flourish. But disfiguring as it was, it was great for garnering sympathy and hopefully would heal without a trace.

Dumping his toilet bag in his lap, Jane struggled his way back to bed to nervously await the expected stream of visitors that would precede and enable his escape.

He sat, chest puffed out like some proud peacock displaying his perfect plumage, ready to switch on his internal fairy lights to welcome the first and most eagerly awaited arrival.

Jane knew that Lisbon thought he was vain, most people did, but it wasn't vanity it was self preservation and he was sure that on some level she understood that.

When everything had been taken from you all you had was yourself, the body you carried your fragile heart around in all day and the 'self' that made you tick. And if you didn't make the most of yourself, make the best of a bad job, massage your _own_ ego, well honestly, who else would.

He wasn't so much vain and egotistical …. just surviving ….. getting by … holding on … in the only way he knew.

Putting on the act.

He knew that Teresa had seen him numerous times when the varnish had worn thin, the act all but dropped, when he'd stumbled around, unwashed, unshaven, crumpled and hopeless, snarky and uncontrolled.

But even for her he still put on the act and applied the make up of a clown.

**xxx**

Lisbon had breezed in and breezed out, but that wasn't to say the brevity of her visit had been disappointing. In fact he would have to call it 'short and sweet', because it was.

Very sweet.

She had seemed hurried and preoccupied, but the sheer intensity of the cheery grin he'd greeted her with soon washed away the slightly worried aura surrounding her and she'd been unable to resist grasping his hand warmly and planting a quick peck on his unblemished cheek.

"My god." she teased, "Have you been to a beauty parlour?"

"All my own work, Teresa. All my own work."

"You should charge," she told him, mock seriously. "But you look like a different man this morning. What happened?"

"I found a way to sleep."

"That's great Jane. Really. Great." she smiled proudly and gave his hand an encouraging squeeze, and it was, very encouraging, quite the most encouraging thing she'd seen or heard from her favourite insomniac lately.

"Jane, I'm afraid I can't stay," she continued giving him an apologetic, almost sad look and throwing a small bag onto his legs.

He was glad that she looked sad, although it wasn't so much unhappy sad as wistful, which was silly really because he wanted her to be happy. Didn't he? But it made him feel wanted anyway. Like it meant she didn't want to leave him. And that was what he needed.

She found herself a space to sit on the bed facing him, motioning him to shove over a bit.

"I just have time to give you these, then I have to get back to tie up some loose ends at the office before I do some last minute shopping and get my place ready for you. You'll have to make do with Rigsby's cast offs just for the journey home, I forgot to take your keys last night so I haven't been able to get anything else from your place. Can I take them now? The keys I mean."

Jane watched, transfixed. He hadn't seen her this relaxed since he'd woken after the accident. He'd always had faith in the magic of his charismatic smiles ( and he did sometimes feel guilty for using it, telling himself if you don't use it you lose it ) but he couldn't have been more happy that the genuinely 'pleased to see you' grin that had leapt to the fore this morning had worked.

There was a lot to be said for unguarded reactions he had to admit. He had been 'pleased to see her'.

No.

Make that 'thrilled'.

"Wasn't that my wash bag then? And underwear?"

"No. I didn't want to leave you when you came in and I've been busy since. So I got some stuff from the nearest place," she admitted, suddenly aware of her consultant's renowned pickiness, which after all hadn't seemed so very important at the time, "Did I do a bad thing?"

Jane laughed a little too heartily and his hand darted to his sore ribs when they reminded him to be more careful, "Ouch , gonna have to remember to stay calm," he remarked to himself. "I must be in a sorry state then. Didn't even notice!"

"Just as well," she teased him, "I bought the cheapest."

Jane made no comment but the relaxed way he leant back on his pillows and the way his features had fallen into a sort of non expression told her he was having a dip.

"You OK?"

"Yeah, I'm good," he assured her with a slow but warm smile.

And, all things considered, for the time being, he was.

Lisbon decided it was perhaps the right time to leave.

"Look Jane. I have to go. I'll take your things, then you'll have less stuff to worry about when you leave. After lunch isn't it?"

"Yup, always assuming the doctor signs me off, but I've no reason to think he won't. I'm prepared."

"I'll be ready for you then, after lunch. My place."

"Are you sure?" he asked warily, but she couldn't figure whether he meant was the apartment sorted or was she actually ready for the challenge she had taken on.

"Yes, it'll be fine," she told him.

…_which ever way…_

…_we'll be fine …_

**xxx**

Jane's performance for Dr Brownloe was a masterclass in physical control, charm and compliance and the man quickly signed the required papers after casting a cursory glance over his chart and a doing routine examination.

The man then spent ten minutes giving his patient strict and detailed instructions for his recovery.

"…plenty of rest …no stress …keep those legs elevated as much as possible … take a good look at your diet, a man of your age shouldn't be anaemic …try to get some fresh air and breath deeply … and on no account are you to put any weight on my expert metal work, I don't want any mishaps…

and if your toes don't look or feel right or if the headaches don't settle call immediately…keep taking the pills, finish the course and the iron … pain killers as required …"

Jane smiled sweetly throughout, nodding occasionally and asking appropriate questions in all the right places until at last the man had finished.

"Right Mr Jane, I think that's it. Congratulations. You can go home, or whatever you choose to call it, I'm sure your friend will take good care of you."

He gave Jane a sly wink and Jane immediately stuck up a mental post it note to find out who might have spilled the beans. Then he remembered that Brownloe had reminded Lisbon of Virgil Minelli and wondered just who was in control of the plot for his early release and who had been talking to whom.

He didn't mind relinquishing that control at all for a change. It made him chuckle to himself and he felt the warmth that came from the knowledge that he was far from alone.

The two men exchanged a glance that acknowledged their mutual understanding of the situation, and their common admiration for the woman they were both thinking about.

**xxx**

The whole of Jane's morning seemed to resemble a runaway rollercoaster ride. Never before had he received visits from so many different members of the nursing staff.

A tall thin and obviously inexperienced girl with dark hair tied up in a neat topknot, accompanied by her middle aged, bespectacled supervisor came in to remove his IV line and scribble on his chart. He had been puzzled by their over familiar use of his Christian name and their unsuccessful attempts to exchange secret glances.

Another stranger dropped by to stare, delivering a pharmacy bag containing his meds and quite unnecessarily lingered to take him through the instructions so clearly written on the labelled bottles.

Then there was the social worker with more final papers to sign, probably absolving the hospital from any liability for releasing him into the world prematurely.

By the time lunch was served by another curious stranger, Jane was beginning to wonder why he had suddenly become worthy of so much attention so late in his stay. He was used to attention under his own terms but this was weird, he was like the 'bird in a gilded cage'. Unable to escape attention. And being constantly in the spotlight he was beginning to wilt rapidly behind his façade.

In fact he hadn't even had a private moment to check his book and it's precious cargo, sitting tucked away between the pillows since before breakfast.

When at last Cindy appeared after his half eaten lunch had been cleared away by yet another willing member of staff, he was feeling jittery and pressurised. The sight of the fair haired angel, even with her disquieting undertones of something darker, was a welcome relief.

He brought down the curtain on his act and met her entrance with a weak and weary smile.

**xxx**

Jane cringed when Cindy tipped his going home outfit out of the plastic Walmart bag.

Since Lisbon had revealed the identity of the donor he hadn't dared to peek, what ever was in the bag could only be tasteless and way too big.

He was not wrong.

He could scarcely contain the grimace and the pained groan that teased a mocking snort from Cindy when he saw the slightly shiny mid blue loose fit (for extra comfort) joggers and the cheaply branded sweatshirt.

"What! Too proud for polyester?" she giggled.

It was simply impossible to resist the urge to rise to her bait. "Can you give me one good reason for wearing polyester?" he moaned, "Synthetics are sweaty and bad for the environment."

"Well actually Patrick I can think of many reasons," she told him coolly, "The most important of which are the fact that you can't go home naked and being slippery they'll slide on easily over your casts and see the legs have draw strings at the bottoms."

"Snakes are slippery," he mumbled.

"Are you stalling Patrick? Scared to go home?

"No Cindy." He backtracked quickly. "I'm very much looking forward to getting out of here. Those remarks were unconsidered …. I'm obviously not at my best. I'm sorry. I should be grateful for man made fibres."

He leaned forward slightly and fumbled uselessly behind his back to find the ties on the hospital gown with it's generic hospital gown print. "Let's get on with getting me ready then, shall we? No time to lose. Places to go. People to see. Time waits for no man. Tempus fugit ….. all that sort of stuff…."

After several moments of fruitless and energy sapping scrabbling he gave up and threw his hands down to his lap in frustration.

"Look Cind, if you want to get rid of me you're going to have to help and I'm sure as hell not going out in public in this hospital garb. It's going to be embarrassing enough being seen in pre owned eighties work out gear."

He didn't know why the girl insisted in making him wait for those few extra excruciating moments, seemed to delight in turning the screw ….but maybe he did know or maybe it was his imagination … he was getting very tired.

Cindy laughed. "Oh Patrick you're so funny. So old fashioned. I'm going to miss you, you know."

Jane gave her a quizzical stare.

…. _If my gut didn't know better I'd believe you Angel…_

**xxx**

Within half an hour Jane was sitting like a prince in his chair, the Walmart bag now containing his few belongings cradled securely in his lap, waiting for the tailgate to rise and lift him into the transport to take him from this short painful chapter of his life and on to the next.

A small gaggle of staff were gathered nearby, ostensibly taking a cigarette break, but the waves of voyeuristic delight and buzzing whispers made him feel sick.

He wished the ground would just swallow him up, let him dissolve into anonymity, something he knew he had given up the moment he had become Patrick Jane …Wonder Boy ….Fake Psychic …. Tragic Widower …. Murderer …Victim …. Hunter …

Cindy stepped forward and placed her hand gently on his.

He couldn't help but flinch, the plastic of his bag rustling a warning as he crushed it's contents protectively to his chest.

"Good luck Patrick," she oozed a syrupy smile, her piercing blue eyes penetrating the tiny cracks in his thin mask. "It's been an experience, getting to know you. Who knows maybe our paths will cross again."

Jane held her with an answering stare, watching and waiting, until the hydraulic tail gate began to lift him to safety.

"You never know Cindy, do you?" he suddenly flashed her a warm honey flavoured smile of his own … straight from the hive … pure and sweet … with a nasty sting in the tail.

"Goodbye," he called " and tell your friend I said hello."

She stood and gazed her inscrutable gaze until he disappeared from view.

He smiled his own honeyed smile until she had disappeared, then he pushed all thoughts of Cindy and her colleague Carmina ( he couldn't decide if they were friends or rivals, so settled on colleague) from his thoughts and felt the tension drain away.

He was on his way.

Home to his friends.

To Lisbon.

He was physically and emotionally exhausted, couldn't wait for a relaxing cup of tea and Lisbon's couch. In fact he thought it was quite likely that he would doze off in the warmth of the stuffy vehicle but thankfully it was only a short drive, just enough time to have a quick glance at his list and read Red John's message to keep himself awake.

He hadn't had the time nor felt the desire to look at it again, but the small cream card held little fear for him now that he was so close to 'home' and his chance of a proper talk with Lisbon.

He opened the bag and took the book out carefully. He turned to the page that contained the names of those suspects who were members of Visualize.

He found nothing.

Nothing nestled safely between the pages.

* * *

**So…. there you have it!**

**Sorry for the delay …. I feel this chapter's a bit disjointed but there was a lot to get in, even though I've still not succeeded in bringing Jane 'home'…. quite!**

**Tell me what you think and I promise a long heart to heart with Lisbon next time and some fun with Rigsby.**


	11. Embarrassing Situations

**Firstly many thanks to Marta75, Little prince, HayseedSocrates, Nat, Mossi.b, MartyMac and Guest for your lovely supportive reviews … the very lifeblood of a motivated writer.**

**I'd like to personally thank Daniel Cerone for showing us what a morally sound man Jane actually is in Red and Itchy and for showing us in the attic scenes that what is seen by so many as his mistreatment of Lisbon is not personal. The man is really ready to break if he isn't allowed to find his peace soon.**

**So on with the next instalment of my story …in which Jane, at long last arrives chez Lisbon!...**

* * *

"Push Rigsby! It's not that heavy," the whirlwind instructed from the opposite end of the chunky neutrally toned couch. "We haven't got all day."

"Sorry Boss. I didn't want to catch your toes."

"My toes are fine. They can look after themselves."

"I know. It's just … you know… what is it they say ?… 'more haste, less speed'" the gentle giant smiled tentatively at his fierce little boss.

"Hmmm, they do but more haste might also mean we get to have coffee and donuts before he gets dropped off," she grinned at him affectionately and stood back to inspect the repositioning of the couch.

Rigsby's smile grew to a fully fledged grin at her words, mostly at the magic promise of edible comestibles, but if he thought past his stomach he was also happy to see that Lisbon was approaching the preparations for Jane's 'homecoming' with such positivity.

She even seemed happy.

That made Rigsby happier.

He was a simple soul and sometimes he worried that his perceived lack of sophistication made people think less of him, but he fitted into the little band of brothers (and sisters) of the SCU like the last piece of a tricky puzzle and they'd been through the good times and the bad times together and still held strong. When any one of the team was happy, Rigsby was happy and vice versa.

Five more minutes of heaving and dragging pieces of furniture around, placing and replacing side tables coffee table and foot stool, saw both of them slouched on the couch with coffee mugs in hand and a plate of fresh sticky donuts in front of them.

"Do you think this is in the right place ?" Rigsby asked, licking the sugary residue from his fingers and settling his legs onto the generous footstool, "I mean … he's much shorter than me."

"Oh, come on Rigs. He's not a dwarf …you're a giant! Anyway it's irrelevant, he'll have us move it all around the moment he arrives. The important thing is that we've made the effort and everything's out of the way so he has space to move around."

The almond sprinkled donut with the delicate pink frosting called out to her and she smiled nostalgically as she picked it up and started picking each individual sliver of nut from the surface. She fell into daydreaming about how Jane would delight in ribbing her on her uncharacteristically feminine choice and how she might make that choice again just to amuse him_._

Rigsby took a sip of his coffee. It was far too strong for him, he'd never dared or bothered to disclose that unlike her he wasn't an extra shot caffeine junkie, but it wasn't like him to complain … anything for a quiet life.

He cast a longing glance at the two remaining pastries, debating whether, if given the chance, he would opt for the chocolate covered one, and the risk of a more potentially messy outcome or the choose the safer option of the simply sugared one.

"Do you think it'll be alright though?" he asked her seriously.

"Yes. Of course you can have another one. I bought two for you, one for me, and one for Jane and if he doesn't want it you can have that one too."

"Thanks, but that wasn't what I meant," he said, picking up the chocolate donut almost before she had finished speaking. Jane would probably prefer the plainer treat anyway.

"I know," she told him, "And yes it'll be fine. If it's not I'm sure Jane will find a way to make things work. I don't think he really cares about the practical things. I got the impression he just needs to feel safe."

Lisbon absentmindedly studied the rapidly disappearing donut while she continued to pick at her own and wondered how it was that Rigsby managed to stay so lean, she thought idly about what Jane might look like if he ate the number of calories consumed by the team's resident glutton.

_... he doesn't have the frame to take extra weight … and at his age …_

She couldn't quite push the image of a little pot belly on a slightly 'stockier' consultant from her mind nor stop the giggle that she tried to stifle as she imagined his blond curls atop a bonny round face and the hint of a double chin.

It was strange, the way that most of her thoughts lately warped into thoughts of her consultant. Or maybe not so strange. Her thoughts had been that way inclined periodically for the better part of ten years.

They sat quietly, Rigsby watching with fascination as his boss carefully pulled small pieces of pink iced dough and absentmindedly popped them one at a time into her mouth. He absolutely could not relate to this forensic dissection of a perfectly good snack. It made him frown.

As they sat, all thoughts of silliness soon fled, banished by reality and the all too real concerns for today's Jane.

"He was looking good this morning, but he was definitely putting on a bit of a show, so I'm not sure which Jane will come knocking on the door," she mused, aloud but mostly to herself. "I have high hopes though."

"That's good Boss".

Rigsby tried to sound supportive while studiously licking the final traces of chocolaty sweetness from his fingers. Why he didn't just get up and wash his hands she'd never figure. But it was somehow endearing, in her rather uncomplicated fellow agent, if not in everybody.

The pair continued to sit silently, each concealing their own degree of apprehension from the other, in readiness for the arrival of Lisbon's guest.

Just as she was considering looking for her ipod to find something (anything) to fill the awkward lull in conversation, which left a void of uncomfortable anticipation and making the room feel suddenly empty, the spell was broken by the unmistakable sound of small stones clattering against the window.

The sound was one she'd heard a hundred times before in her youth, when after dark one of her brothers would sneak home and pitch gravel from the driveway at her bedroom window and she would creep down to save them from their father's drunken wrath.

Throwing stones at glass … it was such a boy thing to do … such a Jane thing …

She immediately leapt up and rushed to the door to be confronted by a beaming vision in blue leisure wear. Except he wasn't beaming. He was trying to beam.

What she saw was a forced watery smile, shimmering over a cold face of worn granite, clutching a crumpled Walmart bag in one hand, the other hand clenched in a fist and drawn back ready to aim a second volley of gravel at the window.

She couldn't help smiling at the faintly comical but tragically sad sight as he let the stones trickle from his still raised hand and lifted his empty eyes to meet hers.

"What do you think you're doing Jane?" she asked him.

"I couldn't negotiate that huge step Lisbon," he gestured to a small lip of about three inches that delineated the border between the parking spaces and the paved area in front of the apartment building. "So I had to get all the way over there," now waving his hand at a small raised flower bed with gravel dressing about twenty metres away, "... and all the way back over here. With all this stuff balanced on my lap. It's exhausting. You should have a word with your landlord about disabled access, you know."

"You've got your cell in that bag, Jane. You could have called. Or got the driver to help you … they just dumped you and left ?"

"Meh!... I told them I'd be fine … and I am … see."

He spread his arms wide and Lisbon watched the bag slip gracefully from his lap onto the ground.

"Aren't you going to help me then?"

Jane's arms remained where they were, gaping like the mouth of a baby bird waiting for food.

"Come here Lisbon, I need you," he said quietly, his face devoid of any discernable emotion, stuck in some other world, only his doleful eyes crying out to the here and now.

Her flowing brown hair fell down into a tumbling heap on his lap as she stretched her body awkwardly in from the side, bent herself over the barrier of his legs and into his silently desperate embrace.

She felt the long slender fingers grip into the flesh of her back like a drowning man grasping for a lifeline, pulling her close to his chest and she watched him snap his eyes shut and bury his face into the safe crook of her neck and shoulder.

She turned her own face to rest amongst the softness of his hair and felt the tickle of the springy curls and smelt the cheapness of the shampoo she had hurriedly purchased for him. Such a very un Jane like scent. It made her sad.

She felt his breath start fluttering in hot staccato bursts on her flesh and she felt the sudden trembling of his body dissipating as relief flooded through him and she felt that relief gradually relaxing his muscles until his breathing became calm, his shaking eased and clinginess turned into something soft and comfortable.

They stayed that way for what seemed an eternity, just like in the movies, until Lisbon became aware of the aching in her back from leaning over too far and she noticed the looming physical presence of a rather embarrassed CBI agent who had ventured out to discover what could be delaying their entry.

"I'm sorry Lisbon." Jane whispered into his lap as she gently unfolded herself from the envelope of his arms and, without daring to meet the eyes that were ashamed to meet her own, positioned herself instantly behind his chair, "I didn't mean for this to happen," he murmured.

Lisbon ignored him. Instead she took a forceful hold of the two handles and pushed down hard, bumping Jane up onto the paving with an unintentionally painful jolt, her face suddenly a picture of businesslike denial, but her body and mind rushing with nervous confusion.

"Let's get you inside then," she told him, her voice laced with forced cheeriness. "We can't make out _here ... _on my doorstep. The neighbours will talk. I have my reputation to look after."

She gave the still immobile Rigsby a warning stare and marched a helplessly stunned Jane to the door, making the other man leap clumsily out of their way and leaving her consultant's pitiful little hobo's bag of possessions stranded on the tarmac of the parking lot.

Jane felt a sudden familiar surge of pride in the only solid thing among the sucking quicksands of his life_… his_ Lisbon taking charge like the foreman of a wrecking crew. But she didn't wreck. She fixed.

"Rigs," she practically yelled, "get that bag will you and put the kettle on."

Jane sat feeling a little like a beached whale in his new surroundings. He'd been allowed into his partner's apartment only a couple of times before, but he remembered it's functional vibe of messy tomboy vividly. It was very Lisbon.

He took a few moments to scan the now minimal, almost Spartan, practical air of the place.

"You've moved me in!" he called with a glee that he'd forgotten he could feel.

One shelf of the cluttered bookcase had been cleared and was stocked with, as far as he could discern, all the books from his motel room and some of those from the stacks surrounding his faithful old couch in the bullpen. On the side table beside the couch was a small pile of sudoku books and a ceramic pot filled with pens and pencils.

"Yeah," came the voice from over the sounds of chinking china and whistling kettle, "I tidied so you could push yourself around a bit. It was due a spring clean. I put some stuff up stairs to make room for yours."

Glee rushed swiftly out the back door as the much more forceful strength of Jane's all consuming guilt muscled it's way in through the front and he wheeled himself slowly over to stare unseeingly out of the window at the parked cars in the road across from his temporary home.

"You shouldn't have Lisbon," he said, "really … no need to…"

He was vaguely aware of the mutterings of his two colleagues wafting from the kitchen. He so hated to be 'out of the loop'.

"Not a word to the others Rigsby," Lisbon hissed.

Jane couldn't quite catch what she said.

"Uhh ? … What?" said Rigsby none too subtly.

"You know what I mean … what went on outside … with Jane," she motioned with her hands to keep his voice down. "He doesn't need idle tittle tattle flying around right now."

Rigsby mouthed "Oh" silently but she caught the twinkle in his eye and realized with resignation that within moments Cho would see that conspiratorial frisson of a secret dying to be set free painted all over the big man's all too transparently honest face.

Tongues would soon be wagging.

She wondered if any of the team had seen them hug before. Then she realised she didn't care. It was more likely the rumours would centre around 'Jane was a mess' rather than 'they hugged … just a bit too long and a bit too hard'.

Anyway she _really_ didn't care.

"Lisbon," came a plaintive call from the sitting room. "My ears are burning. And that tea must be stewed."

"You should be used to that by now Jane. Always the hot topic of conversation." she countered, entering the room with a brown earthenware mug of coffee and his own blue tea cup sitting in his own blue saucer.

She put her drink down on the coffee table, moving over to the window to stand beside him, holding the teacup out for Jane to take.

He had to look away for a moment.

_I think I'm going to cry …this is silly…it's only a cup…only a cup of tea…_

"Take it then, silly."

He disentangled the fingers that had been anxiously fidgeting in his lap and rubbed his clammy palms down the legs of the borrowed blue trousers, feeling the disturbingly foreign hardness of plaster beneath them. Then he reached out a shaky hand to accept his tea, resting the saucer quickly in his lap to stop the brittle chattering of china against china.

"You'll feel better," she assured him.

His head rose and desperately worn eyes belied the truth behind a grateful smile. She could see the trace of an unshed tear that begged not the be acknowledged so she smiled warmly and instead of taking his hand as she so wanted to she gave his arm a playfully gentle nudge.

He smiled back, taking his first luxurious sip, savouring it as though it was his last.

"I know. I'll feel better. I'm merely tired Lisbon," he explained. "I was up at the crack of dawn this morning. It took me ages to make myself presentable … don't know how you girls do it."

Rigsby had tactfully held back, pretending to busy himself in the kitchen. The emotional tension surrounding his enigmatic friend was always difficult for him to deal with, such sensitivities and undercurrents were something he had never had to deal with himself. His own family life, although far from rosy and often violent had always been charged with more straightforward, simpler issues of right and wrong, good and bad, black and white. He understood the pain in Jane's life, but he would never understand the way that pain affected him, the way he bore it and the strange behaviour he adopted in his attempts to deal with it.

Choosing his time with remarkably sound judgement he stepped out to try to 'do his bit', carrying a small plate bearing the single sugared donut.

"We saved this for you. You should probably eat something."

Jane took a final swig from his cup and held it out to be taken.

"No thanks Wayne. Very kind, but I'm not hungry," he replied with renewed warmth in his voice, "I could drink another cup of this delicious tea though," and turning his now strengthening smile to Lisbon. "What is it Lisbon, it tastes like one of mine."

"Oh, I don't know," she stalled, "I brought the whole lot from your place. I just picked one."

"Ah, then it's the orange pekoe. Do you like it?"

"We had coffee Jane."

"You should try it. Honestly. I've got plenty, as you can see," he enthused, his eyes beginning to take on some of their old gleam, "it would do you good to broaden your horizons."

Suddenly he stopped and swung his chair around on a sixpence, propelling himself towards the couch, pale face flushing pink across his cheeks with a feverish intent and purpose.

"We have things to sort out," he exclaimed, "Logistics!"

He tipped the contents of the scruffy plastic bag out onto the coffee table. A motley pile of random objects clattered and rattled into an untidy display of his current life.

He pounced on the little black book almost before it had tumbled to rest and thrust it with guilt laden haste between his legs. "This," he announced seriously and without shame, "stays here."

Then, addressing his new landlady, he continued.

"Can the pills live in your bathroom Lisbon? Somewhere where I can reach them easily. And I'll have my cell by the couch for emergencies and so on. And I believe the rest can take care of it's self," he shrugged at the little pile of bits of paper, wires, paper clips and strange coins and pushed them to one side.

Lisbon picked up the three pharmacy bottles and carefully studied the labels. She had a feeling that she might find herself having to be in charge of drug control, knowing Jane's cavalier approach and general distrust of the medical profession. Not to mention his disdain for his own state of health.

She examined the heavy duty painkillers: two to be taken with food, as necessary, not more than eight in twenty four hours. Fine.

Then the antibiotics: two to be taken with food, four times a day until the course is completed. Fine. Only three more days to go.

Then she picked up the bottle of little red pills.

"Iron, Jane? What are these for?" she quizzed, not meaning to sound quite so schoolmarmish.

"Oh those," he looked up at her, "Apparently I'm anaemic. I don't have enough iron. Do you think I look pale?" he asked innocently.

"Well yes Jane, to be perfectly truthful you look awful, but this must be a long term thing. You don't become anaemic overnight. Let me look at your eyes."

Her experiences as a teenage girl with too many responsibilities to pay much attention to her own diet had left her with an insider's knowledge of quick diagnosis of such deficiencies, her own family doctor had routinely pulled down her bottom eyelids to check for the telltale signs of paleness.

She wondered why she'd never noticed it before in Jane. She had after all stared into those mysterious chameleon eyes on innumerable occasions when he had been pretending to be honest with her and she'd been trying desperately to delve through the layers of sparkling water to find his truth in their muddy depths.

Today they were a swirling eddy of confusion, but truth shone on the surface. And the rims _were_ pale.

"Why didn't you say anything Jane," she tried to be sympathetic, but really everything kept coming back to the same old thing. "If you'd told me…"

He looked up at her defensively with those tired puppy dog eyes. "I didn't know Lisbon. I don't sleep . I'm always tired. I'm used to it," he assured her. "It's been this way for years."

His eyes fell to study the motion of his hands playing out their own story, actively articulating his anxiety and shame, trying to find comfort and answers.

"I hide it, Lisbon. You know I do. Like I hide everything," he dragged out the words he found so hard to admit.

He didn't really understand himself and moreover wasn't ready to analyse his need to hide when inside his heart was crying out to share. The word guilt always got in the way and slammed the door whenever he found the courage to peek outside.

Lisbon sighed deeply, she too didn't want to get into _that _conversation today. It was the talk she'd been intending to attempt to have with him again for the past few days, or more accurately weeks, months … no… years.

Now was not the time.

"Well I can't say I'm all that surprised. What can you expect when you live on tea, eggs and white bread sandwiches … oh, and random pilfered leftovers from crime scenes and whatever the boys leave after a case," she paused for breath. "And that's when you actually come out of that damn attic to join the land of the living. Honestly, you sit up there like some tea drinking vampire, only venturing out to fill your cup," another breath, "No Jane, I'm not surprised your diet is shit and you're ill."

The mixed emotions of pain, guilt and anger that welled to the surface as a threat of moisture in her eyes did not go unnoticed, but Jane was fast running out of energy and he had other more pressing matters to deal with before he gave up and let them see how ragged he really felt.

So he carried on hiding.

"I'm sorry, Teresa," he gave her his best apologetic smile and used her given name, "We'll sit down and plan out a healthy diet for me tomorrow, that will give us something to do with ourselves. I promise to stick to it. Cross my heart and hope to die," he smiled sincerely up and into her worried eyes and criss crossed a sign over his heart with a long elegant finger.

"Now," he said, smiling even more broadly. "Another cup of your lovely tea and then we need to talk bathrooms. Before this headache gets the better of me."

Sometimes it sickened Lisbon to admit to herself how much she was at the mercy of her consultant's wistful looks and beguiling smiles, and how useless she was at concealing the effect they had on her.

She tried to hide like he did, but she had to resort to turning her back.

"Rigsby, would you mind making Jane another cup?" she asked, stalling for time and erasing (or attempting to erase) the image of Jane crossing his heart for her. She settled herself primly on the couch and awaited his further instructions.

"Lisbon," he started, all trace of warmth chased from his face by stark practicality. "I'm assuming there is no space next to the toilet, I mean I bet it's either right up tight to the basin or the bath tub or shower or whatever, and the wall. Am I right?"

"Well yes," she answered, suddenly realising what he was implying and feeling rather stupid that she hadn't even given the matter any consideration, other than the room being ground floor.

"Oh god, Jane. I'm so sorry. It didn't occur to me, you'll have to slide over from the side, right?"

"Right…"

He laughed a rather hollow laugh that morphed into a short bout of tight dry coughing and he braced his arms around his middle to control the sharp pain it caused. A pain that he couldn't hide.

"I can manage with wide necked bottle for now but you'll have to get me a commode for everything else," he explained trying to make light of his disgust at his situation by draping a bitter smile over his strained features.

"Oh, yes … of course … a commode…"she stuttered, not knowing whether to laugh or cry at the sadly comedic image of her best friend, such a private man, shuffling onto a makeshift toilet in the middle of her living room, so she sort of blustered and avoided eye contact.

"Yes Lisbon," he spat venomously, not at her but at the world, the world that just kept right on kicking him in the teeth.

" Google it …," the viper in him hissed.

"Commodes … bathroom aids … for the old and infirm … and useless ..."

Lisbon looked on helplessly at his hands clenching tightly, reining in pent up fury and despair, until suddenly she was conscious of her own hands curling in on themselves in a mirror of his pain. She reached forward, letting her hand rest gently over the cold white knuckles of his fist and felt him flinch and draw back within himself. Shutting her out again.

She could have kicked herself for missing such an obvious problem and her patience with herself and Jane was wearing thin.

"Jane. Look at me," she pleaded. "You will get through this. You'll be fine."

She covered his rigid hands with the comforting blanket of her own, rubbing along his fingers, massaging life and hope into the hard bones.

"Remember how well you coped when you were blind?" she said, "Remember the superhero costume … you didn't even need it in the end. Did you?"

The hands on the clock above the TV clicked their way around a full minute before Jane raised his head in slow motion to answer her in an empty admission of defeat.

"That was three days Lisbon," he said hopelessly. "Only three days."

Lisbon had no answer.

She wished they could talk in straight lines instead of in circles.

Jane's sullen inertia was barely disturbed when she withdrew her hands abruptly from his and rose from the couch, crossing to where Rigsby stood, fresh cup of tea in hand but unsure whether to venture out to deliver it to it's intended recipient.

"Take it to him Rigs," she said. "He's just being a baby. He'll get over it."

"That's a bit harsh Boss. I mean he looks really rough."

"Yeah, I'm aware of that, but trying to talk to him … it just makes him worse, feeds his inner drama queen," she cringed as she heard her own words, hoping they would pass over Rigsby's head and not slip past his lips as some unguarded remark to Cho.

Patrick wasn't a drama queen. He was simply different. A gentle and moral man with a complex intellect trying to deal with events that were only intensified by his unique personality. Events that moved his 'different' brain to resort to amoral solutions and to live in his own particular 'contrived to survive' version of normality. He's not a straight forward man. He's much more than that.

That was what she told herself and that was what she would hold on to.

"I've said all I can say. Any more would be banging my head up against a brick wall," she told her companion before turning and walking briskly to the stairs, pausing only to glance down at the subject of their conversation, who had positioned himself once more to stare forlornly out across the city.

"I'm going to get my laptop … I have googling to do," she called down.

Rigsby wondered what on earth had made him volunteer for 'first Jane sitting duty' as he sidled over toward the window and cautiously held the teacup on it's saucer out in front of the blond man, waiting a moment for some response.

Jane only squirmed a little uncomfortably in his chair and grimaced.

"You OK man?" the big man stooped a little to ask, sensing the nature of the other man's discomfort.

"I need that commode Rigsby," he confided sheepishly, shifting in his seat again.

"What you gonna do?"

"Can you go and fetch Lisbon for me, please. I have an idea."

"I'm here Jane. What do you want," the woman in question asked pleasantly, appearing at on the top step and peering down at the pair. She had taken a few minutes to compose herself and splash some cold water on her face and, laptop in hand, she was ready to help her friend with renewed commitment. And as Rigsby had so rightly pointed out he was looking increasingly 'rough'. He needed her commitment.

"Teresa, I want to apologise. Again. For behaving like a baby," he told her very seriously.

_Oh god, he heard me!_

"And I want to ask you a question." He screwed up his face in response to a sudden strange gurgle that he tried to talk over. "That diner I passed on the way here, just down past the gas station, about two hundred yards I think…"

"Yeah," she furrowed her brow in puzzlement. "Rick's … what of it?"

"Um … do they have disabled facilities?"

"Of course, it's a chain, but…"

"Good. Then Rigsby needs to take me there. Now!"

Before Lisbon had reached the bottom of the stairs Jane had parked himself slightly to one side of the door and was gesturing wildly to the other man to hurry.

"Get a wriggle on Rigsby. Please."

He was starting to sound a little more than troubled now, clutching on for dear life to the little black book still wedged between his legs and getting slightly wheezy and wild eyed.

"Quick. Bodily functions wait for no man," he urged, as Lisbon held the door open and Rigsby pushed him out into the late afternoon sunshine with as much speed as he dare and no small amount of trepidation.

Lisbon's apprehensive gaze followed the progress of the incongruous couple as they rushed off down the street, the tall man bent forward, pushing hard and fast while managing not to run and the blond head of her bothersome consultant bobbing and lolling with the motion. She wondered if he was prone to travel sickness.

And she welcomed the warming wave of fondness she felt for the two of them as they meandered bizarrely down the street.

A short break from the stress of this first day of Jane's stay was just what the doctor ordered, but as soon as they were gone worries crept into her head and she began to sneak furtive glances at the clock. She sat tensely on the edge of the couch and opened her laptop.

Soon she had searched out and arranged rental of a sturdy but compact commode with strong, seat level handgrips for easy side mounting. To be delivered before eleven the following morning. Even though it was Saturday.

She closed the laptop, laid it on the bottom stair, to be taken when she next went up, then she made herself a cup of strong coffee and settled down to watching from the window, mug in hand and heart thumping nervously, for the safe return of her friends. She felt ridiculous fretting over two grown and responsible men.

Well one grown man and her disaster of a consultant.

She had a bad feeling, knowing that Jane had been running on nothing more than adrenaline all afternoon, his mood erratic and emotional, his physical condition unreadable through his layers of carefully polished veneer.

Even the presence of the redoubtable Rigsby did very little to quell her fears that she had bitten off more than she could chew.

* * *

**So he's 'home' and trouble already ….. please tell me if this chapter was boring, next instalment will have lots more Jane/Lisbon plus at least one surprise and some mystery…..**


	12. The Road to Rick's

**A big thank you to all who reviewed the last chapter!**

**I must apologize for the longer than usual delay in updating. Another crisis of confidence!**

**Isn't it funny … we invite reviews and I've been so lucky to have so many, and such great comments. Why is it then that one or two negative ones knock you for six. Because they do!**

**I just have one question. Does anyone else have a problem with my punctuation or any other aspect of my style. **

**I know it's not perfect and I know my story is god awful cheesy but I'm enjoying it and I certainly hope you will continue to enjoy it too.**

**Here goes…. Chapter 12**

* * *

Jane's hands curled round the arms of his chariot in a rigid vice like grip and his eyes squeezed tightly shut in a face as grimly barren as his voice was desperate.

"Rigsby!" came the quietly plaintive cry. "Could you please slow down. My head's about to burst."

"OK man. Just hang on, nearly there," his driver promised, somewhat relieved to be encouraged to slacken his pace. "Look!" he said, removing one hand from the chair to point a little way ahead of them. " It's just up ahead. There … see the sign. Rick's Diner."

"I daren't open my eyes," the mentalist moaned weakly, clamping one palm firmly across his eyes and bowing his head. "Is it far? Because if it's more than thirty seconds I don't think I can make it before I spill my brains onto the sidewalk."

"No man. Twenty yards, that's all," bluffed Rigsby, in the full knowledge that it was at least fifty.

"You keep it together for twenty yards and I'll get you a cup of tea while you're in the restroom."

"There's not another kerb, is there?" Jane continued to groan. "I can't do another kerb."

Rick's Diner was exactly what it purported to be; a cheery, functional, fifties style diner, with rows of tables for four separated by PVC covered bench seats, high stools at the counter, lots of chrome and pictures of James Dean and Marlon Brando. It also had the advertised facilities; an entrance with no step up and signage proclaiming a disabled restroom.

Rigsby spun Jane round to face out of the doorway and shoved the heavy door open with his backside, dragging the wheelchair and it's still grumbling and worryingly limp and pasty passenger after him. It wasn't until they were half way through that he discovered the fatal flaw of the self closing door. If he let it go the door would do it's job efficiently and swing back to shut, and in doing so give his already distressed friend's badly damaged legs a nasty knock. Rigsby's arms were long but they would not stretch far enough to both hold the door and pull back the chair. The pair were stuck!

Everything would have been fine if Jane could have wheeled his own chair, but the man was too busy moaning and holding his head sorrowfully in his hands.

It was five thirty on a warm autumn afternoon and Rigsby wasn't feeling particularly sympathetic.

In fact he was getting flustered and frustrated by the gawping of the crowd of diners who seemed unable or unwilling to rescue him from the embarrassment of his predicament.

He was just about to call out for help when a clear sweet voice rang out from the street side of the entrance and a strong but feminine arm reached across him to hold the door open.

"Here, let me help," she cried cheerfully.

"People are so rude aren't they?" the young woman carried on, deliberately loud enough for the shamefaced diners to hear and take note.

As he hurriedly reversed Jane down the aisle toward the door labelled with a generic graphic representation of a wheelchair Rigsby looked up to see that their good Samaritan was a very attractive twenty something girl with a womanly figure, a pleasant round face and a wavy blonde bob and wearing a flattering pink summer dress.

"Thanks," he said with a distracted smile. "Thanks very much." Then as an afterthought he added. "I'll just get my friend into the restroom and perhaps I could buy you a coffee... as a thank you."

Rigsby stopped at the counter and got a glass of iced water which he thrust into Jane's hand (the one that wasn't holding his head together) before pushing backwards through the adjacent restroom door.

Seeing him struggle again, the smiling blonde repeated her act of kindness and discretely left the two men alone.

"Jane. Come on. Drink some water," Rigsby coaxed, once they were in the room, guiding the tumbler and Jane's shaking hand to his tightly pursed lips. As soon as the cool surface of the glass touched them Jane's lips softened and, as he sipped, the soothing freshness of the liquid eased a little of the tension that was drawing aging tramlines deep into the skin of his forehead and exacerbating his thundering headache.

"Better?"

"... bit," the groggy consultant admitted, looking up and relaxing back from hunching protectively around his painful ribs.

Rigsby took the glass and put it on the shelf beneath the mirror that ran the length of the wall then steered Jane into position beside the toilet and moved the arm rest of his chair out of the way.

"I'll help you get onto the seat then. Shall I? I mean, ... only if you'd like?" he asked warily, unsure if his offer might be rebuffed, but guessing that Jane's need might be more powerful than his pride. "Then I'll leave you to it. Get you some tea and see if someone's got some Aspirin or something."

"Yeah ... please." Jane replied, too embarrassed and in too much pain to say more. The vibration of every word he uttered reverberated around his throbbing skull like the blows of a blacksmiths hammer, pounding on the anvil. His eyes clamped tight again and his brain spun in a dizzy search for relief. On daring to reopen them, he busied himself to distract from his discomfort by taking the little book, which had been nestling between his legs, and tucking it behind him, close up against the chair back.

Then, still not looking up to meet the other man's eyes, he mustered all the energy he had and started to heave his body up and over, saying, between winces and sharp gasps of pain, "If you … could …just help me move … my legs ... bit heavy…"

"Very grateful … " he wheezed quietly when he was settled. "Thank you Rigsby."

"It's alright. Not your fault. I'll be sitting right outside the door. Give me a yell when you're done."

Casting a worried glance back and with fingers crossed, Rigsby beat a hasty retreat to find the nearest seat he could and was immediately greeted by an insistent call from the table next to the counter, and conveniently near to the restroom.

"Hey! I've got you a coffee. Come and sit down," the voice said. "Your friend drinks tea doesn't he?"

Rigsby looked down from his great height into the sparkling blue eyes of their Good Samaritan. The pretty young woman wore the bold kind of make up that he thought Jane might call alluring and had a lively way about her that most people would characterise as bubbly.

"Oh! Thanks," Rigsby smiled a slightly puzzled smile and slid into the red, vinyl covered seat opposite the 'alluring' girl.

…_did I say anything about tea ? … must have done …_

"So tell me about your friend?" she asked.

"Oh, he's a work colleague. Had an accident," he explained, gulping greedily at the large latte (no extra shot … how did she know?) and wondering whether he should check in with Lisbon.

The girl stared at the restroom entrance. Rigsby found it odd that his colleague's renowned magnetic personality seemed to attract the attention of complete strangers even through solid wood. People said he was 'charismatic'. What the hell even was that?

…_really … is he that attractive? …_

"He doesn't look too good, does he," she commented, apparently still unable to tear her gaze from the door. "Should he be out and about?"

"Believe me, he'd still be in the hospital if he wasn't such a control freak. But he's not, he had himself discharged, so _we've_ got to look after him," he looked up at her with the expression of a man resigned to doing his duty while his hands played an irritated game of 'rearrange the sugar sachets'.

"Still maybe it was a bad idea to bring him out to the diner." She turned and gave him a slightly superior look, but nevertheless managed to sound sympathetic. Rigsby watched the rhythmic movement of her crimson painted nails while she absently drew circular patterns in the frothy milk of her cappuccino. He found the blatant directness of her comments disconcerting.

"Oh, believe me," he grumbled and tipped the sachets back into their yellow plastic pot. "It wasn't my idea."

Despite her unusual frankness (which he couldn't help thinking reminded him of Jane), Rigsby was sorely tempted to use the friendly stranger to vent his frustrations over the Jane situation. She seemed like the archetypal 'good listener', with her open face and easy manner, but he decided discretion would remain the better part of valour, remembering many occasions when he'd received a painful kick under the table from Cho for the looseness of his tongue.

Instead he excused himself to enquire at the counter about painkillers for his friend.

When he returned to the table, with a blister pack of pills, he skilfully manoeuvred the conversation away from Jane and soon discovered that his present companion was a single girl, originally from Illinois and was in health care. This led to inconsequential chat about geographical climate differences and the fact that coincidentally his boss hailed from Chicago, until the girl suddenly looked down pointedly at Jane's tea.

They'd been talking for so long that the tea was stone cold and forming an unpleasant skin.

"I must be going", she declared suddenly, draining the last of her drink, rising from the table and reaching out to shake Rigsby by the hand. "I hope your colleague makes a good recovery."

"Uh … nice meeting you," answered Rigsby awkwardly, a bit taken aback by her abrupt decision to leave. "And thanks."

He smiled and lent across the table to take her outstretched hand briefly before she turned a dazzling grin on him and was gone.

xxx

xxx

"You're sure you're Ok now ? You could have another tea if you need it." Rigsby asked for the second time as he finally let the door of Rick's Diner swing closed with a squeak and a thud behind them. Jane had managed to push himself through the opening this time while Rigsby held the door for him.

"No ... should get back ... she'll worry".

Rigsby set off, pushing Jane down the street at a more sedate pace this time, "Why didn't you yell for help Jane?" he asked, trying to find ways to assuage his guilt.

He felt bad about having been distracted for more than twenty minutes before remembering that his friend was still in the restroom. "I told you to call if you needed me or when you were ready."

"I tried … " Jane said tiredly, "… couldn't get a deep enough breath. My ribs are hurting."

He couldn't remember much except that he'd suddenly become so exhausted that he'd ended up slumped half way between toilet and chair, helplessly calling out until he had run out of energy.

He had given up trying to ignore his headache so he had finally allowed his eyelids to close out the agony and had been blessedly unaware until Rigsby had burst in and found him semi conscious.

"But you're sure you're alright?" Rigsby's guilt insisted on asking again.

"I'll be fine if you stop asking and even better if you never put sugar in my tea again."

"You needed it. For energy."

Jane coughed a little and clutched his hand to his chest, wincing and contorting his face as he attempted to appear brave.

"Didn't…" he gasped.

"And Rigsby …" the words crawled out after a couple of wheezy breaths. "Please … don't tell Lisbon."

Rigsby was secretly relieved that his charge didn't want this little incident to be revealed to his boss.

It wouldn't do anybody any good. Lisbon would worry, Jane would feel unnecessarily fussed over and would worry about Lisbon trying to persuade him to go back to the hospital, and Rigsby would be admonished for neglect.

For Rigsby, saying nothing to Lisbon was a win win call, but still he didn't think he would tell Jane that.

"You passed out!" (he was genuinely worried and thought Jane should be too).

"I drifted … there's a difference," his voice emerged a little clearer now but still rough and weak.

…_yeah…passed out …that's a worry…long day though…_

"You wont tell her, will you? … that I drifted?"

"OK," Rigsby ceded against his better judgement. "I won't tell her."

He smiled a satisfied smile to himself though, thinking how unusual and how very pleasant it was to have the great Patrick Jane owing him a favour. In spite of the fact that it was he who should be in the dock for neglect of duties.

Suddenly Rigsby realised they were nearly at their destination.

"Uh oh … sit up straight," he instructed the slumped and very drowsy Jane as, in the distance, the open doorway to Lisbon's apartment came into sharp view. The waves of prickly irritation and obvious concern emanating from the angular figure of the brunette standing in the opening, flooded to meet them as swiftly and inevitably as the incoming tide.

The famous pocket rocket stood feet solidly braced, hands on hips, on the threshold.

Rigsby gave Jane's shoulder a rather over enthusiastic shove, which almost had the reverse of the desired effect, pitching his sagging body forward and eliciting a sharp cry, and Rigsby was sure he heard a word he thought never to hear pass his friend's usually oh so refined lips.

Jane, however, even in his ragged state, quickly understood the rather unsubtle message and wasted no time in attempting to present Lisbon with what he hoped looked like a picture of complete composure.

"Trying …" he groaned, pulling his shoulders up to sit rigidly just beneath his ears and stiffening his neck to face front alertly.

He expected he looked ridiculous, a little bit like a small boy playing at soldiers on parade, but figured that initial over overcompensation would allow for some inevitable slumping. As strong as his willpower was, there was a limit and perfect posture was difficult to achieve even at the best of times.

Jane felt absolutely on the edge of what his undeniable strength of mind could deliver.

He also knew perfectly well if he looked half as bad as he felt Lisbon would see straight through it, but he felt he owed it to her to keep up the charade.

"OK?" whispered Rigsby, through a smile carefully constructed for Lisbon's benefit.

"Yeah … sort of … ," Jane whispered back through a similar smile smoothed over painfully gritted teeth. "Rigsby?" he carried on. "You'll be here in the morning …?"

"Do you need me to be?"

"Yeah … Um…early if you can."

Jane looked up at Lisbon, who was now striding out to meet them and wearing a frighteningly gladiatorial expression.

"… need to talk to you," he hissed quickly at his chariot driver, before morphing his forced smile into a taut grin which he knew would fool nobody, especially not the woman marching toward them.

"Where the hell have you two been?" her words rushed out to meet them in a high pitched stream.

She glared accusingly at Rigsby, who, to his credit, calmly stood his ground, waiting for the storm to abate. "I was about to call 911!" she raged at him.

When he saw Lisbon's battle mask begin to slip as her fear filled eyes released their grip on him to fall on the pitiful spectacle of her grey consultant, Rigsby replied.

"Jane didn't feel so good," he said in a tone calculated to reassure rather than alarm. "So we stayed for a cup of tea."

She didn't look impressed or convinced.

"Didn't we Jane?" Rigsby added for effect and looked anxiously at the somewhat 'out of it' man, hoping for confirmation.

Jane sat quietly for a minute or two, trying to sit up straight and control his breathing, trying to stop his eyes from wandering and willing them to stay open, trying not to let out an involuntary moan to ease his pain.

"Yes," he eventually affirmed quietly. "Very nice tea."

Lisbon looked long and hard at him, but just a nanosecond proved sufficient to tell her all she needed to glean from the empty eyes that tried to focus on her.

"C'mon Jane," she said quietly. "Let's get inside."

Now was definitely not the time for interrogations or recriminations.

"… inside… sounds good…" he managed a rather pathetic smile for her.

The next thing he knew Jane was parked up next to the couch in Lisbon's apartment. He was vaguely aware that he could hear the hushed and somewhat anxious tones of his two friends wafting from the kitchen. He correctly assumed he was the subject of their conversation.

… _must have drifted again … can't have noticed though …they'd be round me like flies…_

His head was still pounding but he propped his eyes open and worked on stopping the room from spinning before he moved on to trying out his voice. It emerged as something a little more confused and much weaker than the perky version in his head.

"Lizzzzzz … can...y... help… um... couch…" he started but promptly shut his mouth when he heard what he thought was the result of his efforts.

Of course he couldn't be sure whether what he was hearing was what the world could hear. It reminded him of an auditory version of the visual disturbances of a migraine. He'd only suffered a few but would never forget that strange sensation of being able to see, but not see, something that was right in front of you… that weird sense of detachment. His voice sounded distant ... and not his...

…_that won't do…wait a bit …try again in a minute_

But all at once he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He was sure his eyes were open but he hadn't seen or heard her approaching.

He'd know that touch though ... anywhere ... even though he'd felt it only a scant few times before.

"Lisbon …" he tried brightly.

She took his hand in hers very gently and with the other hand held a glass to his lips.

"Here, have a sip," she urged him. "That's it".

She knelt down beside him and examined his eyes carefully. He swallowed and breathed a deeper breath. "And another sip …goooood … that's better… and again …"

With each small mouthful and each breath his heart began to beat more steadily and the sweet face in front of him came more clearly into focus.

She put the glass down on the table and grasped his other hand so that she held both together, their four hands resting as one in his lap.

"Jane. Look at me."

"Hi" he said softly, peering up at her, continuing to blink away the 'driftiness' bit by bit.

"Look," she told him, speaking clearly and giving him time to absorb her words. "Rigsby's gone to go get us something to eat, because I don't want to be out in the kitchen preparing food. Someone needs to sit with you. Then he has to go."

Jane gave her a rather bemused look.

"I'm not hungry Lisbon," he told her seriously. "What makes you think I'm hungry?"

"But _**I**_ am Jane," she laughed; a spontaneous reaction but it usefully helped to disguise the worried vibes she was certainly giving off. "And _you_ might fancy something later, when you feel better," she added hopefully.

The serious, sincere, bemused look he displayed never failed to amuse her. It was the one that screamed innocence and vulnerability and had women falling at his feet.

If only they knew! But she knew and still she loved it.

Jane continued to look confused.

Had she asked him if he wanted to eat? The very thought of food soon conjured up a queasy feeling, which he knew was probably hunger, but he also knew he couldn't face eating.

Serious, sincere, bemused, was replaced very swiftly by serious, weary, and slightly panicky.

"I just need to lie down Lisbon. That's all I need," he pleaded.

She wasn't at all keen on the thought of Jane going straight to sleep. His problem was almost certainly pure exhaustion and pain, but she felt horribly and unaccountably scared that if he slept now he might never wake up. That was ridiculous. But it was how she felt. Scared for him.

In fact she wondered why she had allowed herself to dissuade Rigsby from calling for medical assistance. He hadn't exactly told her that Jane had been unconscious, but his concern had led her to draw her own conclusion. Rigsby was after all even more transparent than Jane claimed _she_ was. And Jane was certainly far from 'with it' now. It was only the thought of the grief he would give her later that stopped her from calling 911.

"OK then, but I want you to take your pills with a glass of warm milk first. They're overdue and you've still got one more lot to take today. And you're not supposed to take them on an empty stomach."

"Hhmmm ... OK... if I mu..."

"Yes. You must."

The determined slapping of Lisbon's bare feet on cool tiles on their way to the kitchen gave Jane no option but to accept. He let his eyes drift shut again.

Very soon there was a loud knock on the door which helpfully roused Jane from his 'drifting' and in no time at all Rigsby had wolfed down his food and left with Jane's urgent whispers of "don't forget …early" ringing in his ears.

Jane found himself ensconced on the couch, his legs stretched out on the matching footstool, surrounded by pillows and blankets and with his hands cupped round a homely earthenware mug of hot milk.

He dutifully popped in the pills Lisbon had dropped into his hand and took another luxurious mouthful, swilling it round before swallowing uncomfortably.

He closed his eyes, swallowed another gulp and sat breathing in milkiness, feeling the steamy vapour comfort his senses like a warm whisper.

He was feeling a little better already. His aches and pains were being squashed and chased to another corner of his consciousness by a burgeoning sensation of comfort and security and hopefulness, assisted by strong fast acting painkillers.

Opening his eyes once again some minutes later, Patrick turned to look at his best friend Teresa, who had pulled over a comfortable chair to sit as close as she could get to the couch. She was absently spooning mouthfuls of something he didn't bother to identify into her mouth and chewing automatically.

He noticed her lower her gaze quickly in embarrassment. He knew she'd been staring at him for ages.

She looked so un-CBI. So feminine. So good.

He felt something glowing and swelling deep inside him and, unlike her, not the slightest hint of embarrassment.

…_I'll have to talk to her soon…properly…_

Lisbon looked up again and caught the far away look that met her.

"You OK?" she asked.

"Never better Lisbon," he smiled. "Never better."

And there it was. Their ritual. The ritual that excused them from talking.

It went like this.

She would ask after his wellbeing. He would reply … _never better_. It meant … _no, I'm not ok … _but it also meant …_ I don't want to talk about it …_

She understood that and she respected it. And it worked for them. It deflected a lot of difficult conversations. Sometimes that was a good thing but sometimes she knew that Jane used it to his advantage. Misused it. But she always respected his right to perform their ritual. Sometimes she wished they could break the spell, chuck out the excuse. Sometimes she knew she should.

For now the merry go round of the 'never better ritual' would go on turning until one or other of them decided it was time to get off.

And tonight she was just fine with that.

One day, when he said _never better,_ it would be the truth.

"You're staring at me Lisbon," he croaked through the stickiness of his last mouthful of milk.

"Cat can look at a king," she retorted, grinning girlishly at the white moustache the creamy dregs had left on the fair hairs of his upper lip.

"What were you thinking?" he asked her.

"I was thinking you look horrible and I was feeling guilty for making you sit up this long and forcing you to drink milk. I know too much lactose doesn't agree with you."

"Meh. It's ok." he returned her earlier grin weakly, then let it dissolve away and was silent for a moment before adding grimly. "I can't sit up any longer though, Lisbon … had enough."

He handed her the mug and, before she had a chance to offer him assistance, started shuffling himself into position ready to swing his legs over onto the couch to lie down. Lisbon saw the sheen of perspiration begin to glisten on his brow and the tremor in his body as the effort proved too much. She saw him close his eyes to regroup for another effort.

He didn't ask for help.

It almost broke her heart; that sometimes he forgot that he could ask for help. That sometimes he thought that he didn't even deserve it.

"Hey !" she cried, hurriedly depositing her half eaten meal and Jane's mug on the side table. "Come on. You're exhausted. Let me help."

"Thanks," he acknowledged breathlessly.

He relaxed and gratefully allowed her to half lift, first his body, then his legs, so that he lay outstretched, perfectly filling the whole length of her couch. She tucked a soft feather filled pillow under his head.

Almost as soon as she had finished draping a couple of cosy fleece throws over and around him, Jane's eyes were once again firmly closed.

"Sleep tight Patrick."

His reply, if it was one, was no more than a sigh.

Lisbon quietly padded out to the kitchen, taking the used china with her and returning with a fresh, strong cup of coffee. It was getting quite late and she was tired. Nobody could deny it had been a stressful day and nobody would have begrudged her sinking into her bed before ten o'clock, but she had no intention of leaving Jane on his own for several hours. She lived on a diet of caffeine and more caffeine, so she settled down to watch over _her _consultant, caffeine in hand and more ready brewed in the kitchen.

Jane lay, snuffling gently and wheezing occasionally.

Lisbon watched.

His features appeared relaxed and devoid of any pain, a picture of his life drawn in lines like a map on the pale parchment of his skin. She saw the lines that told of his years of pain and the creases in his cheeks drawn by holding the grin on his mask just a bit too long.

But the strongest were the lines at the side of his eyes that told of his joyful smile; the smile that she had no choice but to return whenever he threw it her way.

As she watched and the thought of his smile pulled pleasant reminiscences forward to drive away her troubles ( their troubles), a happy image of the old brown couch in the bullpen bearing a fully clothed Jane appeared.

Jane; the old Jane, reclining, on his beloved couch, hands behind his head, shirt sleeves rolled back and a smirk plastered on his face, pushed his way jauntily into her thoughts as she watched her broken Jane sleeping.

Lisbon reached for the TV remote and flicked through the channels, landing on one that was showing back to back reruns of Friends. Not her favourite viewing, but that didn't matter.

She turned the volume down to a murmur. It couldn't come close to replicating the soothing hum of activity in the bullpen but it would have to do.

Lisbon took her coffee and sat on the footstool so that her knees were touching the blanket that covered her 'partner'. She pushed her knees close in and slipped her hand under the cover, hoping he wouldn't notice it was cold. She'd tried to warm it holding her mug; she didn't want to wake him with a cold touch.

Jane's hand was soft, relaxed and warm.

She held it gently and told herself that one day 'never better' would be the truth.

She sat with him, just watching his every breath, until, at two o'clock her body reminded her that he would need her to be awake and strong in the morning.

She left Friends to keep him company.

* * *

**I'm afraid I haven't been very diligent in checking this one so sorry for any errors. Enjoy!**


	13. Ice Cream with Friends

**As usual I'd like to thank all my lovely reviewers, especially my regulars ( you know who you are), but I'd like to say thank you to one particular Guest who I obviously couldn't reply to and whose comments made my little heart go thumpty thump. I hope you to know who I mean.**

**This will be my last posting for a while. I'm off to France again on Sunday so it'll probably be about three weeks.**

**So this chapter is entirely Jane and Lisbon … see what you think … let me know if I've pitched it about right.**

**There'll be more plot in the next chapter.**

* * *

The sound of muffled voices and laughter drifting from the living room downstairs were something Teresa Lisbon had thought to leave behind when she'd escaped the responsibilities of caring for her brothers. One by one they grew to some semblance of maturity and flew the family nest leaving her with her independence and solitude.

It was no surprise then that waking to hear actual human activity, rather than the indefinable buzz of Sacramento's city nightlife invading her apartment, was disorientating.

She snaked out a hand to feel for the comforting shape of her Glock and listened carefully for a moment through the veil of a too brief sleep, too soon interrupted.

A stream of quiet profanities and grunts, interspersed with the congested coughing of what sounded like a sixty-a-day smoker, pressed her reality button and made her fling back her summer weight cover. She swung her legs automatically over the edge of the bed.

The weapon was unceremoniously dumped onto the nightstand and Lisbon sat back on the bed and stared at the friendly red digital numbers that read three forty two.

Less than two hours sleep!

Struggling to find the armholes of the silky floral robe that Annie had given her last Christmas in a vain attempt to help her aunt find her girlie side, she yawned her way out onto the top landing.

"Jane," she called. "You alright?"

"I'm … um … fine," came the short breathed reply. "Go back to bed Lisbon." Then a pause, filled by more stifled coughing. "You ..._ wheeze ..._need your beauty sleep."

"I'll be the judge of that," she snapped back groggily, reaching the bottom of the stairs to be greeted by the sight of Monica from Friends, with a turkey on her head, dancing on the TV screen.

"Have you seen this Lisbon?" Jane spluttered. "I've never watched Friends before. It's interesting … so many dysfunctional ... relationships. Is Monica the one ... in the turkey? And the one ... who sings about a cat, that's Phoebe, ... right? I like her. Who _is_ with ... whom anyway?" He spoke in staccato sentences punctuated by shallow wheezy breaths. "It's hard to ... tell."

"I don't know Jane. I don't really watch it. I put it on to help you sleep," she replied tersely through her sleepiness. "Perhaps that was a mistake."

"Oh it's quite ... educational, though … human nature, social interaction," he smiled up at her. "Education's never a bad thing."

He smiled a bit wider. "Sorry to wake you."

She softened.

Lisbon walked over to stand in front of Jane who was in the messy process of getting himself into a comfortable sitting position and settling his legs in front of him on the footstool. Eventually satisfied, he gathered the blankets, flung them to one side and let his arms flop to relax in his lap.

He looked expectantly up at her. "Well, are you going to watch ... Friends with me? Or are you going to do ... as I say and go back to bed?"

She scanned his eyes and found to her delight that unlike six hours ago, when they had been entirely empty, they were now beginning to fill with life again. Most of the shutters were open, and out of the still slightly cloudy windows, through cautiously parted drapes, glowed dancing evidence of the real Jane sparkle.

And his colour was markedly better … maybe a little too much so though; definitely flushed and his brow was glistening, his hair damp with sweat.

But on the face of it, Jane was back again.

She remembered saying that to herself a day or two ago. Perhaps it was going to be two steps forward, one step back.

A process.

She remembered saying that too; a long time ago.

"Jane. What are you doing?" she asked him. "You're the one who needs to sleep."

He became suddenly serious.

"I made a mistake," he explained. "I laid down too flat, so all the stuff that's been collecting in my lungs and pipes and whatever goes on in there," he dragged in another difficult breath and indicated his chest with an accusing finger, "… it all gets pooled in one place like a big squelchy mess and then I can't breathe. In the hospital the bed was never horizontal so it didn't happen quite so much."

"I thought you had antibiotics for that?"

"Yeah, I do," he reassured her tiredly. "And I'm sure they're working, but it's a bit catch twenty two. I have to cough to get rid of it. My ribs are hurting so much I can't cough properly, so I can't get rid of the stuff, then I have to cough some more and that hurts my ribs more so then I can't cough properly … it's like a damn never ending circle …" again he was running short on breath.

He looked up beseechingly, with eyes that were beginning to fill with tears born of coughing and of desperation.

"Lisbon … I'm so fed up …"

She didn't really have an answer. Other than the obvious. So she used that to buy herself some thinking time.

"I'll make us some tea," she offered, trying to leave him with a look that promised a solution.

"That would be nice."

Lisbon prepared the cups, remembering to put a little milk in first and selected Earl Grey, popping a couple of bags into the little pot she'd found in Jane's motel room. She had no idea what type of tea would be appropriate. Then she went to rummage among the bags of what passed for casual clothes she had found in his room. She dragged out a pair of expensive blue cotton pyjamas.

She stood watching the kettle boil and pondering whether to verbally kick Jane out of his despondency or make life easier by pandering to his self pity. The former would certainly be wiser, if initially more painful. But to let him wallow in his own pain and add fuel to the fire by trying to douse it with buckets of sympathy was never going to be the best option with Jane; he might suck up pity like a sponge or spit it back like venomous bile. Who could tell?

Besides his inner core was, in reality, stronger than that. He didn't need pity. Not only was he physically stronger than he appeared but, more and more as the years of his torture wore on, he was mentally stronger too. Sure there had been some terrible lows but he seemed to have built such tremendous stores of resilience and determination now, especially the closer he came to his goal. Or maybe he'd just become more skilled in cementing over the cracks. There was the conundrum.

As the years had passed Lisbon had seen Jane when he was in a hopeless dip more and more often, but she had come to realise that, difficult though it had been for both of them, the truth was she saw more of his lows because he allowed her to. He trusted her to see. He trusted her above any other to see behind the carnival mask. Most of the time.

And as it happened she didn't have to make that decision tonight; to be good cop or bad cop. A kick up the arse or a pity fest. He made the decision for her. Without any kicking.

"I'm sorry," he called out to her after a bit. "I should try not to be so miserable."

Seeing her entering the room with the promised tea, he turned with an artfully cheerful grin and proudly filled his lungs with as deep a breath as he could manage.

"Look," he paused, checking to see he had her full attention, before performing again. "See … I'm breathing much easier now."

"That's great Jane. Maybe it's because you're a bit more relaxed. You should practise what you preach you know. You know … mind over matter."

She smiled and handed him his blue teacup, gave him a handful of pills and placed her own mug on the coffee table beside the nearby chair. "Here, these are the ones you missed earlier. All up to date now."

She went to settle herself in the chair, tucking her legs under and pulling the flimsy robe around her to cover as much as possible.

Jane studied her for a few moments.

"Lisbon," he said, peering mock seductively through the steam of his tea as he lowered it slowly following a long sip. "Why don't you come and sit on the couch with me? That robe doesn't look very warm."

"It's not," she admitted, fidgeting to get comfortable in her unaccustomed attire. "I put it on to save you any embarrassment. It's a warm night. I don't wear jimjams like you, old man."

She threw him a sideways glance to see if she'd scored a hit.

"Very feminine," he mused, deliberately ignoring the ageist jibe.

"Thank you," she mumbled, smiling a secretly flattered smile into her tea mug.

"So," he began to ask again, hardly able to decide whether to conceal his grin or his playful snigger or both, and in attempting to do so sending himself into another painful bout of coughing.

"Sorry," he said, when he'd recovered. "Will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Join me on the couch to watch TV." He decided on a sly wink this time. "I know I'm not a very attractive proposition at the moment, but I really could do with the company. And maybe some ice cream. A midnight feast … well… pre dawn feast. They do serve ice cream at this establishment, don't they?"

Lisbon grinned broadly. "Oh Jane. It's so good to have you back," she laughed . "So good."

He grinned.

She jumped up from the chair and came to squat in front of him, a look of serious mischief flashing in her eyes and devilment singing in her voice.

"There's just one thing Paddy dear," she giggled. "And I don't want you to be offended."

"This sounds ominous."

"You pong! You smell a little bit like a hobo. So we're going to have to do something about that before I come any closer."

The stunned consultant's mouth fell open and froze for a moment while his pride scrabbled for a suitable retort.

In the next instant he regrouped and the gaping chasm of his shock grew into another dazzling grin.

"And who exactly was it who introduced synthetics into my wardrobe …Teresa!" he accused. "Your fault I believe."

"OK. Mea culpa." Lisbon smiled back, "But I'm still not coming any nearer."

She retreated jauntily to the bathroom, leaving Jane proudly wearing his own secret smile at her use of one of his vast stock of Latin idioms and wondering how many others he had taught her.

… _I wonder if I can work 'contra mundum' into her head … Jane and Lisbon against the world …_

"Right." She instructed brusquely, returning with a bowl of steaming soapy water, some soft towels and his favourite blue pyjamas folded over one arm. "Let's get those sticky things off."

She plonked the plastic bowl down on the coffee table and approached him with unabashed openness.

The secret smile made a speedy retreat from Jane's face.

His arms locked in place around his middle and held on tight to the bottom of the sweaty blue top.

The scant flush of colour present in his cheeks deserted him and he felt less like a man than he had ever felt before.

This wasn't how she was supposed to see him.

Helpless. Hopeless. Bruised and ugly.

"Nnn ..nn..no Lisbon. No," he stuttered, not looking up at her. He crossed his arms and started to drag the jersey over his head. "I can manage on my own. See …"

Then suddenly he let go and quickly pushed the top down again to cover his body. Still she caught a glimpse of the rainbow of evidence that he thought made him look weak and ugly.

Lisbon understood, so she backed off. "But it would be easier if I helped, wouldn't it? There's no need to be ashamed."

"But you _don't_ understand Lisbon," he looked up, imploring her to see the reason for his discomfort.

He wrapped his arms protectively around his middle as he had when he had first entered her life.

"You're not a nurse. You're practically my boss. And you're my friend. You wouldn't let Bertram do this would you? Or Rigsby. Or Cho. Would you?"

_... no… I certainly wouldn't … and I don't even think I'd let you … but it's different for a woman …_

"Jane I _am _your friend," she told him earnestly. "And that's why you should let me help you."

"And because you're my friend you should understand that I need to do this myself. I know it's only a small thing, but surely you know me by now. I've always been able to cope on my own. I'll manage just fine and I'll call if I need you."

… _be easier if we were __**just**__ friends … but we're not … and I do need you … that's why I can't …_

"OK" she gave in quietly and went to sit in the kitchen.

* * *

"Lisbon! Lisbon!"

Teresa slammed her coffee cup down on the counter a little harder than she'd intended when the familiar call came. She smiled happily. It was the same tone that rang out at so many crime scenes. Usually it annoyed her. She imagined the frown she habitually wore when he summoned her like that and as she usually did she obeyed the call.

Jane sat, cheeks glowing and fresh, resplendent in his crisply laundered pyjama top, with his underpants and the damp blue joggers stuck half way down his legs and a blanket covering his modesty.

"I can't bend far enough to reach my toes," he explained with the eager honesty of a young boy who'd been trying very hard to please his mum. "So I couldn't get them off the end. Please will you help me?"

And soon, with very little discernable embarrassment, he was sitting, straight and strong, clad in the complete set of nightwear, watching the dawn's new light creep in strands of silver through the blinds.

The cast of Friends were still playing out their scenes of domestic chaos quietly in the background.

"Are you tired now? Do you think you could get back to sleep?" Lisbon called from the bathroom where she was rinsing the sweet smelling suds away and hanging up the damp towels. Rigsby's generously donated cast offs had been immediately thrown into the washer where they could cause no further offence and the door had been firmly closed.

"I'm bright as a button Lisbon," he told a half truth. "Is it too late … er… too early for ice cream? You could go back to bed if you like, I'll be fine now. I could watch some more TV"

… _don't go… I want you to sit with me …_

"Do you think I went through all the trouble of making you clean up so you could eat _my_ ice cream on your own," she called back at him as she flew past en route to the kitchen.

… _I want to sit and eat ice cream with **you** Patrick Jane …_

Jane smirked when he heard the clunk of the heavy freezer door slamming, followed by quiet cursing when too solid ice refused to yield to Lisbon's efforts with the scoop.

"You know you should take it out in advance if you want to make it easier. It's called forward thinking."

"Shut your mouth, Smarty Pants, or you won't get any."

He looked suitably contrite when she thrust a spoon into his outstretched hand and placed a purple melamine bowl in his lap. Vanilla fudge ripple. With extra butterscotch sauce.

"All for me ?"

"Since when did we not share."

Jane looked into her eyes. She was smiling but he thought he detected just a hint of seriousness in her remark as she brandished her own spoon in front of him and slumped down beside him on the couch.

"I'm sorry," he apologised, indicating the darkened patch on the seat cushion. "It's a bit damp. I spilled some water. Wasn't easy."

"It's Ok. Doesn't matter."

She spooned in her first mouthful of cool creamy comfort and turned off the TV.

They sat and ate ice cream together.

Jane watched the silver light of the early sun growing to warmer buttermilk as it pushed it's way into the room. The birds announced the birth of the new day and when their job was done scattered merrily away to do their thing.

Lisbon watched Jane savouring every mouthful as if it were his last and thanked her God that it wasn't.

… _he smells of gardenias … and Jane …_

"What are you smirking about," he asked.

"I was wondering if you minded smelling of flowers."

"There are more important things in life than what I smell of Lisbon," he gave her his serious but you know I'm only playing look. "Like, where are my shoes?"

… _except that _**is**_ serious …_

"I had them taken to your motel room. Your car's parked there too." She answered with a tone she hoped would not convey any particular message. It was just information to be imparted. "Your clothes are in a bag. There's nothing worth saving though."

She didn't elaborate; he didn't need to know about the smoke damage and that they'd been cut to shreds so his injuries could be examined.

"I thought I'd wait till I could ask you before I throw the clothes away."

"But I do need my shoes. Are _they OK?"_

"They'll polish up fine," she assured him with a gentle squeeze of his hand. "Just like you will."

Suddenly she felt a shiver vibrate though his body. It seemed to start deep within him and spread to every extremity, leaving him looking scared and ghostly pale as though he'd felt someone walk over his grave.

She reached for a throw and arranged it around him. He didn't notice. Or didn't acknowledge.

"Here. You're cold," she said. She tucked the other blanket around herself.

"Will I though? Will I ever really be fine?" he said quite quietly and calmly, as if he was merely asking the time of day. "I mean physically I'll be fine. The bones will heal. I'll be dancing down the corridors in no time at all. But sometimes I wonder why I keep doing this to myself."

"Red John?"

… _why did I have to bring that up …_

"No not Red John per se." he tugged the cover up tighter to his neck and furrowed his brow.

He looked so tired. Not lacking in sleep, so much as tired of living. It was a tiredness that filled his eyes to the exclusion of anything else, so that she couldn't see into them.

"You should probably get some more sleep," she told him. "You asked Rigsby to come early. Remember?"

"Did I?" he searched to recall. "Oh yes, but I wasn't thinking straight. Rigsby doesn't do early, does he?"

"I think he will for you."

"But still, I want to talk for a bit. If you don't mind?"

"I'm all ears. If I can stay awake."

He knew instinctively that her loyalty had made her sit awake with him for hours while he slept earlier.

"It can wait till later," he said.

"No," she said, "I don't think it can," This had the potential to be one of the talks _she'd_ been wanting to have for some time; for ever really. The chance to address just one of her many issues with Jane, no matter how inappropriate the timing, had to be a good thing."What is it?"

Her stomach began to tie itself into knots in anticipation.

"Well you know how I got myself into this situation …" he began.

"Yes, I think you tried to tell me," she snorted. "And I have my lecture ready prepared, but you don't listen. Do you."

"I do listen Lisbon. I listen to everything you say and I take it under advisement. Then sometimes I act on it."

"Do you want to listen to me now Jane? Or do you want to tell me some cock and bull story about why you wonder whatever it is you wonder about your 'situation' ... or are you still calling it your 'accident'?"

… _here I go again … viper tongue … beginning to sound like him …_

"I'll listen Lisbon, because it sounds as though we're thinking along the same lines, and then if you have time, I'll tell you a cock and bull story."

They were turned to face each other now, both hugging their blankets around them and each pinning the other with a steady gaze.

"Right," she said. Then stopped.

She tore her eyes away from his. The intensity was too much and her carefully prepared and rehearsed words began to float away into the ether before she could corral them into a sentence.

"Jane, I just don't understand why you will not learn," she finally blurted out. "Why you put yourself in danger time and time again. Why you go out there alone. Why you are prepared let yourself die."

"That was kind of what I was going to say … and …"

"Let me finish Jane," she cut him off. "I was beginning to hope that we were making progress when you let me see the Red John wall. I flattered myself that you actually wanted to show me. I even let myself think you were proud to let me see your work. You were glowing with pride and optimism and you were including me. I thought you were proud to have me as your partner."

"I am Teresa. I am proud to be your partner," he replied solemnly, still looking his partner straight in the eye with a burning honesty.

"Then why won't you let us protect you? Why do you keep going off on your own? Why were you even _at_ that place … there _was_ no message on your phone …What made you go there? … Alone … Why won't you learn?"

"Oh, I know why I went there … and I don't want to talk about _that_ now … but I don't know why I went alone … I mean I do … but I wish I knew how to stop it."

He paused, suddenly realising that he was starting to sound confused; talking himself round in circles.

"I always ask for help when someone else is at risk, when someone else is in danger," he continued, willing himself to think clearly. "I got back up when Red John when after Kristina, and when he threatened Darcy and Rosalind. It didn't work out I know, but I'd never knowingly put anybody else's life at risk without back up. You must know that."

"Then why do it to yourself? Your life is just as precious as any of _them_, as anyone in the world, and you so nearly lost it this time."

… _I so nearly lost you …_

"Why can't you learn that … to value your own life," Lisbon had to avert her eyes again so that he would not see the tears she had told herself she would not shed.

Jane kept his steady, solemn gaze trained on her, as if to prove his resolution to convince her of his sincerity.

"I suppose that's just one thing I just can't teach myself, Lisbon … that my life is precious, that to throw it away before the job is done, by being rash, would make this whole thing pointless … futile," he scrubbed his hands roughly over his face and through his hair. "I don't think about it at the time … I just do what I have to do. Because it's Red John … "

"But you don't have to do it alone … even when it's him. Especially when it's him."

"Do you think I don't know that Lisbon? I know you're there for me … and the team. And I know that we're better together … I won't catch him alone. And still I do it … rush off into the night like some sword wielding lunatic to slay the dragon. All alone … like I'm some avenging hero. It's pathetic. But it's who I am and that's what I don't understand. That's what's frustrating."

He was gripping the edges of his blanket with tense white fingers, breathing shorter and faster in his impatience to explain his frustrations. "I can teach myself anything. Facts. Skills. Tricks. Techniques. Anything. I can learn them all Lisbon. I can do anything I set my mind to … but I can't learn to change who I am."

Jane shook his head slowly from side to side and raised it to stare with his whole soul stripped bare for her to see and understand. "I don't understand me and I don't always like me ... or the things I let myself do."

He closed his eyes and let his body sink back into the couch and his hands lay limp in his lap.

"I nearly killed myself, Lisbon and I'll probably do it again," he whispered.

Lisbon took both of his hands in hers. It was getting to be a habit. They were lifeless and clammy and his pulse was racing.

"No you won't." she said tenderly. "Not while I'm around."

He sat still and stony.

Their words hovered in the air around them. There _were_ no more to utter in those moments.

Gradually Lisbon observed the relaxation that came with catharsis, a burden partially unloaded.

"We should try to get some more sleep now Jane. We can talk again tomorrow," she told him simply.

He nodded and as Lisbon rose and took her blanket from beside him, he swung his legs from the footstool, but did not lie down. Instead he looked up with a faint smile of gratitude, which needed no explanation and said. "Lisbon, have you got that bottle you said you'd find for me?" She nodded. "Could I use it please?"

When Jane was settled with an extra pillow to keep him from lying too flat, Lisbon squeezed the blinds as tight as she could to ward off the strengthening sun and curled herself up on the chair next to the couch.

"Today," she told him quietly, "…when Rigsby's been and you've done whatever business you had planned with him, we're going to make our own plans. We're going to plan a healthy diet for you. I'll shop. Maybe we'll get you some more comfy clothes. We can do anything you want. If you want we can talk some more, but we don't have to..."

She couldn't see his face from where she sat. Just the top of his untidy head.

"And if you're up to it we can go to the park … get some fresh air ... or we can go on Sunday if you like … anything you like…"

"Thank you, Lisbon."

**Thanks for reading ! All comments gratefully received…. **


	14. A Geisha girl?

**Well ! Here we are at last … The Stuntman is up and rolling again at last.**

**I am so, so sorry for the long delay in posting … I know how difficult it can be to follow a story when it goes missing for weeks and I can only apologise for that and the change of identity … personal problems ! **

**I won't be surprised if my Stuntman has lost some of his followers, and I hope you won't think it presumptuous of me to suggest that you maybe scan or read through the previous chapters ( yes, I know that's a lot of words!) or you will miss some of the references to past clues!**

**So thanks for sticking with me and here goes with a short (I had huge difficulty getting back into writing) and hopefully sweet bit of Jane and Lisbon.**

**Disclaimers … Meh! … TM is Bruno's gift to the world.**

* * *

"Ouch!"

There was something sharp jabbing painfully and persistently into the fleshiest part of her thigh. Jane was poking her with a stick. She pushed it away roughly, rubbing the spot where the bruise would be tomorrow. Why did dreams have to be so real? And why did they have to be about Jane?

She slumbered on.

"Lisbon."

A quiet but urgent call accompanied the next volley of finger prods.

"Lisbon".

"Get off Jane. That hurts."

She batted the offending digit off with a slap and tried to ignore him again.

"I'm sorry Lisbon." His silky voice wove it's way into her awakening consciousness, "If it's any consolation, it hurt when you slapped my hand away and it's very hard to reach you like this. I don't think I could have kept going much longer."

He was using that soft, sweet, pleading tone that she found both annoying and endearing, so she lifted her head slowly, unfurled her awkwardly coiled limbs, and set about stretching the ache out of sore muscles. She said nothing more to Jane, who had sheepishly withdrawn his outstretched hand and was flexing it gingerly and making little groany noises.

"Morning," he said blithely, when he'd regained the full use of his arm.

Lisbon cautiously turned her uncooperatively stiff neck and examined him sleepily gazing at her from a rather unnatural half sitting position, holding himself up precariously on one elbow and perilously close to the edge of the couch. He looked very uncomfortable but it didn't seem to bother him.

Jane said nothing else, simply smiling benignly and continuing to watch her struggle to drag her body into the bright new day.

His expression was playful and warm and his colour encouraging but she soon noticed the blueness of the hollow shadows beneath his eyes that betrayed his continuing lack of sleep.

It would have been easy to lecture him again about his childish behaviour but who could find it in their heart to be angry with such a combination of optimism, vulnerability and need. So, he used his boney finger as a tool to wake her up. He was always easy to forgive for the little things he did; the little things that made him Jane.

"You've been awake for ages haven't you?" she asked, rising from the chair she had slept uncomfortably in and coming to squeeze her bottom onto the tiny ledge of couch beside his feet, so that she could look him straight in the eye.

"No … not for _ages_. But your snoring woke me," he explained perfectly seriously but with no edge of accusation. "I couldn't get back to sleep. Don't you worry though, it was very entertaining watching your dreams."

He flashed a teasing grin. "Were you chasing a bad guy?"

"Liar!" She shot back at him. "You've been awake longer than it takes _me_ to catch a thief. Besides I don't snore and I don't dream."

"Everybody dreams Lisbon. Everbody snores."

He turned away pensively, "I dream ... "

Then he fell silent for a moment and when he spoke again his voice had dropped to very near a whisper.

"It's just that some people's dreams are bigger than others."

… _and darker … and mine… well let's not go in to that …_

The cold hazy mist of melancholy that so often veiled Jane's eyes fell softly over them like gossamer, only to be pushed away by his heroic will to appear at peace with himself and with the world. It left a penetrating chill that made Lisbon shiver and prompted her to notice the stlightly bluish tinge of his usually pink toes which had become uncovered as he'd fidgeted sleeplessly while she slept. She pulled the blanket down and tucked it carefully in.

They both stared down at her handiwork.

"Your feet are cold," she observed blandly. "You OK? Did you get any sleep?"

"Yeah. Excellent, I think," his reply was considered. "I've slept enough … you shouldn't worry on that account. I'm not exactly expending any energy."

"You said that already ... 'don't worry'..." she answered defensively. "I'm not worried. Just asking,"

He peered up at her and smiled the placating smile that never fooled her.

_... please_ …_leave me to do the worrying …_

She regarded him for a moment before deciding that early morning caffeine cravings really should take priority over _another _fruitless discussion about the poor man's sleeping problems. He seemed happy enough.

"Tea then … you hungry?"

"Tea would be lovely Lisbon. No milk and something settling, peppermint or chamomile for preference, my tum's a bit grouchy this morning. Must have been that warm milk last night."

He winked to tell her that he apportioned no blame for his excess lactose intake. Actually he'd quite enjoyed it.

"Yeah. Sorry about that … couldn't think of anything else … you couldn't have pills on an empty stomach … and you wouldn't eat … well you weren't in any state…" she allowed her unnecessary guilt to roam uncomfortably and quickly rose to escape to the kitchen and the coffee machine.

"Really Teresa … it's fine," he called after her.

"Don't think there's any peppermint, so chamomile it is then."

"Why don't you try some Lisbon? It would be better for you than caffeine, you seem a bit nervy."

"That's because I need caffeine, Jane."

She wasn't just nervy. Now he'd annoyed her. Poking at her dependence on stimulants. Didn't seem fair when he was plagued by his inability to switch off, although to be fair it was something he had no control over. She thought maybe he envied her her choice whether to be on the edge or not.

He carried on poking. Seemed today was his day for poking.

"Addiction, Lisbon," he advised smugly. " It's not good."

She could feel her annoyance building to the point where she knew her next words would come out screechy so she took a leaf out of the Patrick Jane book of self control, counted to ten as she dipped his tea bag repeatedly, and changed the subject.

"Jane," she asked him brightly. "Why were you prodding me? You do know that hurt, don't you? You have very boney fingers."

There was a brief silence. Then...

"Oh damn!" Jane's loud exclamation was accompanied by scrabbling, grunting and moaning as he frantically heaved his legs onto the footstool and tried to free himself from his bedding.

"What's the time Lisbon? I almost forgot about Rigsby. That's why I needed to wake you."

The sudden loud activity momentarily threw her into protective mode until she realized nothing was actually seriously amiss with her bothersome consultant and she soon answered him calmly, but with a hint of satisfaction in her tone and in the curve of her suppressed grin.

"Memory let you down?" she teased as she sauntered casually over and handed him his cup. "My, you really do need your tea don't you?"

Jane was _not _amused.

He took the cup and placed the saucer on the side table on top of his little black book, which he had pushed to the back of his mind; until he felt his mind was once again up to the task of delving into it's pages again. The sight of it threw him a little.

"What time is it, Lisbon?"

He was beginning to feel somewhat flustered and agitated.

"It's just after eight, still early for a Saturday. Plenty of time for some breakfast." she told him after a cursory glance back at the clock on the kitchen wall.

If she'd been wearing her wristwatch she felt sure Jane would have grabbed her arm to check just to satisfy himself. She wouldn't have minded, at all, but she'd left it on the nightstand anyway.

"I'm having breakfast at the diner. I'm assuming they do eggs."

He put down his cup, tea unfinished and started hurriedly unbuttoning his pyjama top.

"It's a diner Jane. They do eggs."

"I need to get ready then."

She could hear the rising angst in the brevity of his words.

"Why's it such a big deal? Rigsby can wait for you, if you're not ready when he comes."

"It's not a big deal."

He didn't elaborate.

He stopped with his top open but still on, no longer shy to reveal his ugly bruises.

It was worrisome; Jane's irrational focus on Rigsby's arrival.

He was now sitting there bolt upright, tea cup in hand, taking sharp little sips like he was anxiously trying to smooth himself out, and staring ahead of him so intensely she could practically see the coiled spring inside his head. He'd been winding it tighter and tighter while he'd been lying awake … when he hadn't been watching her chasing bad guys in her dreams. And he'd been studiously attempting to hide it from her.

"Patrick."

She would have touched two fingers tentatively to his arm, but there was such tension in his body that she feared his tea would spill if the spell were broken by physical contact.

"Patrick" she repeated softly.

And with one long stuttering release of pent up breath, a brief wince, a couple of quietly controlled coughs, a sigh and another, more appreciative sip of tea, Jane was back.

"Oh … sorry Lisbon,"

He slowly raised his head.

A flirtatious grin blossomed then became teasingly serious.

"Well we can't have Rigsby seeing you looking like a Geisha, can we?" he told her, raising his eyebrows and looking pointed at her barely covered legs. Of course, hardly an accurate comparison, but he thought she'd get the message.

"I mean, it's very becoming, your skimpy little floral number. Hardly appropriate attire in which to greet ones subordinate though. Is it?"

Her mouth fell open breifly, but embarrassingly, she saw his point.

"I'll swing for you Patrick Jane. I swear I will."

Jane's tiny smile was affectionate and just a bit possessive as Lisbon swept from the room and stalked up the stairs, not even attempting to cover any more than Jane could already see. She couldn't make up her mind whether to be insulted, humiliated or flattered by the glow she felt from his lingering gaze, but the proud smirk that snuck onto her face half way up the stairs soon battered down her ambivalence.

… _I'll swing for you Patrick… _

He simply watched her climb the stairs with his sad eyes, a rueful smile and a little more warmth in his heart.

… _just be patient Lisbon …_

* * *

**Hope you liked it … no, nothing much happened, just a lot of mood swings, ( I'll have to get them to sort that out in a future chapter), but I promised to get something out this week.**

**Next chapter will be longer, there will be stuff going on and it will appear sometime next week if there's anyone still reading!**


	15. Teamwork

**Thanks so much for the lovely welcome back….. it's good to be back! I never thought I'd get such a lovely response.**

**I will be replying to all last chapters reviewers tomorrow… I just wanted to get this one out.**

**One interesting thing came out of the reviews and that was a nice comment about my English writing style, so I thought I'd explain my take on the whole language thing.**

**I'm English, so it's natural for me to write using English spellings, idioms and syntax. In fact although I'm obviously writing about American characters in an American setting I think it would be a disaster to attempt to write in 'American', as the work would no doubt be unnatural and riddled with errors. I hope that we can all still read the characters as we know them and you US readers will excuse any misleadings and misnaming of everyday items. **

**Anyway on with Jane's little adventure …. Hope uo all like it!**

* * *

"On my way out Lisbon!" came the cheerful shout. "Miss me while I'm gone."

Lisbon spat the last rinse of toothpaste into the basin and thrust her head out of the bathroom doorway. "Don't tire yourself out Jane," she yelled back through the minty spit. "And don't forget to take your pills, they're in your vest pocket."

"Yes Mum."

Jane rolled his eyes to the heavens and propelled himself out into the early morning sunshine. He let his chair bump gently down the three inch lip onto the asphalt of the parking area and grinned wryly back at Rigsby who stood openmouthed, regarding his companion's somewhat eccentric attire with jaundiced disappointment.

"No Rigsby, I'm not wearing your delightful garments," he announced, stroking a hand lovingly over the soft grey worsted mix of his favourite vest. "Our esteemed commander threw those poly-pants you so kindly lent me into the wash and left them imprisoned there. I would have chosen the bin frankly, but there we are."

He laughed. A self pitying plea for the gods to be kind to him for once in his life; cynical and harsh.

"I'm reduced to pyjama bottoms; they're loose … I have nothing else that fits."

Then, he waved his hand as though he was John Wayne urging on his cavalry platoon, "Come on!" he ordered. "No time to lose."

Rigsby fell in behind, still reeling from Jane's transformation from the previous evening's barely compos mentis, semi conscious mess, to this morning's dynamic, jabbering bundle of nervous energy.

As Rigsby took hold of the handles of the chair and began to push, Jane turned awkwardly to address him, already becoming breathless, "What do you think?"

He gestured expansively to draw attention to the remainder of his outfit and smiled widely and confidently. "Could be the next big trend. Night to day mix and match."

He was wearing his best blue and white striped linen shirt under his favoured vest. The plain blue shirt would not work with the blue PJ bottoms. A contrast would avoid nosey parkers and busybodies from thinking he had escaped from somewhere in his nightwear; with luck they wouldn't even notice the pants, although he knew curiosity always drew people to gaze rudely at the misfortunes of others.

He knew he was going to have to get used to being gawped at and interrogated.

… oh, you poor dear … whatever happened to you … you fell out of a window… that was silly…

It was a strange contradiction that the man who paraded around in a full three piece suit, twenty four seven, in all weathers, and had spent his life performing in one guise or another, actually hated being the centre of attention. Unless it was on his own terms.

He'd been hiding behind suits, acts and facades, dazzling smiles and heavy iron sliding doors, and even behind chairs in other people's offices, hardly realizing that he was courting the very attention his fragility couldn't cope with … sympathy, pity, gratitude, attraction, affection … love …

Being at the centre of a clammy fog of love challenged and disrupted his own perception of his selfworth. Or lack thereof.

It made him shrivel and shy away if he was shown sympathy or if he was offered thanks. It reminded him that he might, by some miracle, be a good man. He didn't deserve it. He wasn't a good man.

So usually he tried to attract negative attention. Usually it worked. People disliked him … if they didn't know him well. And he didn't often allow people to get to know him.

To his credit Rigsby didn't pass comment about the clothes. He dutifully and carefully ( mindful of the pain his passenger had suffered during their last trip to the diner) wheeled his friend on and listened to him explaining what life lessons he had gleaned from watching back to back Friends.

By the time they had covered the three hundred yards to their destination Jane had gone mercifully quiet.

As the door swung open Jane was hit by the tempting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon and the sight of Cho staring sternly back at him and the welcoming face of vanPelt smiling over her coffee at them both.

He spread a huge smile on this morning's much healthier looking face and exclaimed for all the patrons of the diner to hear,

"So! I see you came mob handed."

He pushed his chair past Rigsby, who stood in mute embarrassment holding the door, and glided expertly into position in the aisle beside the table where their colleagues sat.

Rigsby shrugged and smiled a careworn smile, shuffling into the seat beside Cho so that he would be in position to gaze longingly into his lover's eyes as she sat across from him. His smile evolved into helpless adoration at the sight of the auburn waves framing a face that to him was the embodiment of everything good and wonderful.

Much to his dismay, the object of the gentle giant's adoration focused apprehensively on his companion.

"You're looking great Jane," she proclaimed with a relieved smile, then quietly added, "Hi Wayne."

Rigsby's face fell but he kept his mouth shut, choosing to feel for her ankle under the table.

VanPelt slid him an affectionate sideways glance and rubbed her leg against his.

Cho immediately pinned Jane with a stare that was somewhere between 'Hey man. How are you' and 'Let's get down to business'.

"Mob handed?" he said. "Rigsby said you wanted to talk. We're a team . We came."

Even though it was resolutely in character Jane reeled slightly at Cho's brutal distain for social niceties and felt a ripple of panic welling in his gut. He quashed it firmly down with a twist of the ring on his finger and a carefully disguised swallow.

"After my tea," he said seriously.

Then more brightly, "Have you had breakfast? I could eat some eggs. Lisbon says they do good eggs here."

He waved his hand wildly to attract the server, his eyes doing a furtive sweep of the room. He was pleased to find that none of the staff who had witnessed yesterday's debacle were on duty today … or at least none that he recognized or remembered.

A chubby girl with mousy hair arrived instantly, pen and pad at the ready to take his and Rigsby's orders. She studiously ignored Jane's pyjama clad legs and the fact that he was virtually blocking the aisle and causing a health and safety issue. He was grateful for her tact but knew that her gossiping had already been done behind the counter and she would no doubt report back when she returned there.

He already felt fed up with being out and about.

"Why are we here Jane?" said Cho, after pleasantries had been exchanged and breakfasts delivered.

"Well Cho, if you'll give me a chance to get some food into me … Lisbon says I have to eat … so please give me a minute."

He ate a few mouthfuls then put down his knife and fork, wiped his mouth slowly and folded the napkin into a neat square. Then he picked up his cup and, grimacing as he leant back from the awkward position he'd had to adopt to eat at the table, he took a long preparatory sip.

… _here goes …_

He leant forward again, conspiratorially and began. "I needed Rigsby to bring me here to use the restroom. I wasn't sure I'd be able to make the journey on my own and I wanted to let Lisbon have some down time. She had the pleasure of my company all night … have a hunch I wasn't much fun… so I thought I'd give her a break. Besides she has to wait in for my throne to be delivered."

… _OK… that's true … now tell them the whole truth …coward …_

Cho lifted an eyebrow, "Throne?"

"Yes, Cho," Jane whispered bitterly. "I can't use the bathroom. Rigsby will explain."

"Oh," said Cho, letting his brow level up. "So are you going to tell us why we're really here?"

Jane reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a small plastic evidence bag. He fumbled self-consciously when the edges wouldn't part easily between his nervous fingers. He could feel his pulse quickening, his heart pounding and his forehead becoming sticky.

… _you __**are**__ doing the right thing … you __**are**__… you __**are**__…you are …you …are you?_

Eventually a small handful of pills tumbled onto the table.

VanPelt, Rigsby and Cho exchanged concerned glances.

Jane quickly scooped up all the pills and threw them into his mouth … all except for a tiny red one, which missed and skittered across the slippery table to land in front of vanPelt.

She silently picked it up and returned it, with as little fuss as possible, to Jane. As she did so her fingers curled around his and squeezed them reassuringly. He gave her a grateful ghost of a smile and threw the pill in to join the others, washing the lot down with a hurried gulp of tea. Then he raised his face to look at Cho.

He knew that it was Cho he had to win over.

If Cho was on side he knew the others would follow … or if _he_ was reticent then he would win over vanPelt. He could appeal to her feminine sensitivity, she had always had a soft spot for him as a victim (although he hated being regarded as such) and he thought she admired him too, but she was also staunchly loyal to Lisbon, as a woman and as her boss. If he had vanPelt in the bag then Rigsby was in there with her. Then hopefully Cho would follow; because they were a team.

Jane took a deep breath and pulled himself up straight. His head was beginning to throb again. Hopefully the painkillers would kick in soon.

…_just stress Jane … calm down…_

"I need you to check some things out for me," he began, speaking quietly and making absolutely

sure there was no trace of side in his voice or deceit his expression. "And I don't want you to say a word to Lisbon."

Rigsby's mouth dropped open.

VanPelt looked sadly into Jane's eyes and thought they looked just a little too bright.

Cho simply said " No."

Jane's hand snapped up, his palm deflecting the protests he was expecting.

"Wait Cho," he continued to speak in calm, controlled tones. "I need you to hear me out," he said. "Then you can either go with me or cast me adrift. Your decision."

"Go on then man. It had better be good to leave the Boss out."

Cho rested his folded arms on the table and regarded Jane suspiciously.

Jane had already made his own decision to be as straight with the team as he could. At least regarding his motives; which were after all good. But there would be some things he wasn't prepared to discuss at this early stage. Maybe never.

They didn't need to know about his screwed up memory palace, the hospital visit from Red John, the sunflowers, the red message on the creamy little card …hell, he hadn't been able to pluck up the courage to tell Lisbon those things …so he wasn't going to tell anyone else … particularly if some of them turned out to be … well … his 'vivid imagination'…

He didn't even know if Lisbon had told them why he'd said he was at the house in the first place and what he'd said about what went on there … so why tell them now? Not relevant … yet.

…_and they're sure as hell not going to know how I feel about her…they can think what they want …_

All he needed to do was to make them understand that he didn't want to worry Lisbon.

Simple… but it was going to mean opening up to them in a way he'd never done before.

A sudden wave of nervy nausea enveloped him and he had to draw a deep painful breath to ward away a feeling of faintness.

So he hid his hands under his legs, just above where the casts started, wiping their dampness on the soft blue pyjama bottoms.

He knew the colour had drained from his face, but not even he could do anything to hide that.

"You know guys, that I would never deliberately do anything to hurt Teresa don't you?" he started, but knew he had to qualify that statement. They had to understand that things had changed. "Not_ now …"_

His words were loaded with the weight of all the lies he'd told and all the promises he'd broken; regret for the times he'd spun them a line and hope that now they'd be able to see that he was about to bare his soul to them as much as he could; as much as he was able.

He'd only ever done that before with three people. Two of them were Sophie Miller and Teresa Lisbon.

Now he was about to allow them partial access to his private pain.

"I haven't been feeling my best these past few days…"

"Huh!" exclaimed Rigsby. "We'd noticed." He received a sharp nudge under cover of the table and a stern glare from vanPelt.

Jane continued unperturbed. " … and I know Teresa's very worried about me. I don't want her to be worried any more… at least no more than usual."

As he said it, it dawned on him how sad he was that he made her worry on a regular basis.

"Anyway, it's hard for me to admit this to you, because you think I'm so in control and I never talk to you about 'stuff', but I'm going to say it anyway," he bit his bottom lip and his eyes shut briefly, then he opened them and plunged right in. "_I'm_ worried about me too … since the accident. My head's been in a mess and I've been having trouble separating reality from dreams and I'm afraid that my memory's been playing tricks on me … and I've told Teresa things about what happened … and now I find myself wondering if they were true …I'm not sure she believes me …I don't want to talk to her about it …until I'm more certain myself … I don't want to worry her any more … that's why I don't want you to tell her …"

The words came spilling out like grain from a hopper. Unstoppable.

He threw his head back, closed his eyes again and let a heavy sigh roll in a wave among the group.

The two men, unaccustomed to this unfamiliar Jane, held their council, wondering how best to respond.

VanPelt reacted according to her feminine instinct to comfort and protect and to a fleeting memory of a shattered man sobbing quietly to himself behind a closed office door.

"You don't want to tell her you concerns. I understand that." She tried to reassure him. "You think that if she doesn't understand there's nobody left but yourself."

The young agent didn't think she had any right to advise a man who was old enough to have once pretended to be her college lecturer, but she couldn't deny her right to speak from the heart. The heart spoke the truth, whatever it's age.

"I don't think you're right to hide from her though, because she's the person who knows you best. I know you're scared, but honestly Jane she'll worry more if you keep things from her."

Jane's eyes opened slowly and he let a little warmth seep into their troubled waters to convey his thanks to the red headed rookie who he'd seen blossom into a solid agent while never losing that sweet bloom of innocence. Those expressive eyes also told her "No". He couldn't talk to her.

Cho looked solemnly from Rigsby's face, then to vanPelt's and finally to Jane.

"So, how do you want us to help?"

The edgy sparkle of animation leapt back into tired eyes.

"I thought you'd never ask," Jane heard himself say.

…_that's the most crass thing you've ever said … they'll think you were putting it on…well maybe not Gracie…_

He took a deep breath.

"It's very simple. There are some things I need you to check out, before I talk to Teresa again," he told them. " First of all I need you to go back to the house. Rigsby I want you to look at that room again, check for anything that could be DNA tested. I'm assuming the blood and hair on the door surround was mine, but perhaps there's something else; on the window maybe. And I want you to see if you can tell if the window was opened before or after the fire was started, and look for prints on it. I know I didn't open it and I don't remember seeing it open when I drove up. And look for any drag marks …anything …. I'm not sure how I made it to the window …."

He turned to Cho.

"Can you go back and speak to that man Ferdinand. You spoke to him on the night, yes?" Cho nodded silently. "Just go over his statement again and check his background out, ask the other neighbours about him, what sort of guy he is, that sort of thing."

"We went back the day after to canvass the neighbours but Ferdinand wasn't available. On holiday apparently," Cho commented.

"Convenient," said Jane dryly, then turned to his red headed colleague.

"Grace, I want you to run background checks on two nurses from the hospital. Carmina Santos and Cindy Rosso. I want anything you can find, and pictures. …Oh, and a picture of Ferdinand. …Oh and some pictures of the house; inside and out …it might clarify my recollections of the night … trigger something…"

Jane waited for Grace to write down the nurses names in a small pad she had taken from her purse, using the time to gauge the trio's reactions before continuing. His tone and expression changed again from intense and edgy to calm and he allowed his body to relax somewhat as he addressed another question to the whole team.

"Does anyone know where to get one of those litter picking things … you know they have a hand grip lever at the top which operates sort of crab claw thingies at the bottom … you pick up litter without bending down and without getting your hands dirty."

He scanned the three faces brightly for any sign that one of them knew what he was talking about.

"I'll leave that with you then, shall I? I'm going to the bathroom."

With that he sped off down the aisle to see if he could make a better job of being independent than he had the previous afternoon.

The three CBI agents cringed in unison when the strange man who simultaneously shunned and craved attention called back so that everyone in the diner could hear.

"Come and rescue me if I'm not out in seven minutes."

When he reached the door he did a double take and rolled back far enough to ask a grey haired woman, sitting with her daughter at the nearest table, if she would very kindly assist him by holding open the restroom door.

"Why seven minutes?" mused Rigsby.

"Who knows" replied Cho.

"So what do you think, guys?" asked vanPelt. "We've got seven minutes."

"I think we have to tell Lisbon." Rigsby's stance was always clearly on the side of procedure, so his view was simple. "She's the boss; she has a right to know. I mean she's in charge of the investigation."

"And look where that's going," responded Cho. "She's preoccupied with Jane. I don't blame her for that. We're practically on our own on this one anyway."

VanPelt thought for a moment. "Look guys, I think we should do the investigating anyway. Because we'd have to do it eventually when he gets round to talking to Lisbon. But the way he's obviously thinking that could be sometime never, and he'll only wind himself up more if nothing's happening. If we tell the boss, who knows what he'll do … he's right on the edge…and she'll never forgive him for going to us instead of her … she won't accept he's trying to protect her."

"She'll kill us if she finds out," protested the always skeptical Rigsby.

Cho, however, began to see the logic of vanPelt's reasoning, even if he didn't entirely agree.

"She won't find out. We do the work, see what we find, then go to Jane and make him front up to her," he theorized as he spoke. "No need to tell Lisbon he's involved if he still won't talk to her … we say we did it on our own … to take the pressure off her and Jane … everybody wins."

"What if we find nothing? And how do we explain about the nurses?" Rigsby's head kept throwing up problems.

VanPelt looked at his bemused face, and wished he had been endowed with more confidence. He was a fine, fearless man but sometimes lacked the spark of confidence to take a leapt into the dark.

"I can say I suspected them when I was at the hospital that morning… if I have to," she told them. "But that shouldn't be necessary if we find evidence and persuade Jane to fess up."

"If we find nothing, we say nothing … we just report back to Jane," Cho said blandly, but even he was unable hide his misgivings. " It'll be up to him then … heaven help him."

The three of them sat uncomfortably with their own thoughts, until Grace looked up at the two men solemnly and said. "Did you notice … he kept referring to the boss as Teresa … he never does that."

Cho shrugged.

Rigsby looked at his wristwatch for the thirteenth time in seven minutes. "He's not out yet," he observed anxiously.

"What happened yesterday?" Cho enquired of his friend.

"Um … I left him in there for twenty minutes … forgot about him." Rigsby squirmed. "He wasn't too good when I went to get him."

"Oh."

Guessing her paramour's agitation might be connected to yesterday's unpleasant experience, which he had described at great length to her earlier, vanPelt leapt swiftly to his rescue.

"I'll go," she offered eagerly and rushed off to open the restroom door to a slightly flushed Jane who was busy wiping wet hands down his pyjama pants.

Cho almost managed a glimmer of amusement as he watched the smiling red head wheeling the grumbling blond back through a now crowded diner towards them.

"That's another design fault," Jane was moaning. "Hand driers that don't dry! They send these charlatans to University to learn to draw pretty pictures of these things. They look very elegant … but they don't work."

He thrust his slightly too bright glare up into his rescuer's face. "It's not rocket science is it Grace?" he asked. "I mean I could do it. Thank you for opening the door. And that's another thing," he continued his quiet complaining. "These doors are too heavy to open comfortably when a person's incapacitated."

While vanPelt took her place opposite Rigsby, the CBI consultant settled himself into a stiffly formal posture and adopted an expression of expectant gravity, he looked hopefully at each of the trio of friends like a defendant working a jury, milking a positive verdict. Except he wasn't manipulating … just asking for help.

"Well?" he said after he thought they'd made him wait long enough.

Cho was the first to speak.

"Jane. You're stupid," he announced. "You should talk to Lisbon."

"Stupid Cho…? "

It was no more than he'd expected, so he was prepared.

" … well I'll concede to maybe a few episodes of emotional stupidity and a little playful idiocy … but you can't question my intellect … it's just a little compromised …at the moment…"

"OK then," countered Cho. "Your behaviour is stupid."

"Blame my behaviour then … not me."

"Semantics Jane. Don't deflect." Cho told him.

"Ah …touché, mon brave." Jane smiled and let his thoughts reassemble.

" OK, so my decision making's shaky right now, but I'm not changing my mind. I'm not talking to her until I'm on solid ground, until I have the evidence to convince her … I know it's out there … it has to be …" he paused, and the air became a vacuum, a silent moment of nothingness until he whispered.

"I'm not crazy…"

VanPelt saw Jane's body begin to fold back in on itself; his spirit retreat behind his tragic punchinello's mask. It was obvious to her they had no choice.

"Well I'm going to help you Jane and I'm doing it because I don't want to see you two hurt each other."

Rigsby looked surprised, but couldn't see beyond vanPelt's straightforward logic and Jane's heartfelt plea.

"I'm in," he said.

Cho merely nodded and said "OK."

xx

Jane didn't notice Cho's car parked just behind a grey pickup as he wheeled himself wearily past the only side street on his route home to Lisbon's apartment.

He'd had to work hard to cajole his colleagues into allowing him to make the short journey by himself, assuring them that he felt fine and the exercise would do him good. He'd smiled a lot and thanked them profusely for putting their trust in him and for putting up with his moods and demands and they'd reluctantly deferred to his assertion that he was the one best placed to judge his own physical condition.

To be honest he hadn't given much thought to whether he would be able to make it all the way without stopping for a breather, but the truth was he wanted some time on his own. He was soon thanking some god or another that it wasn't even approaching the distance it had seemed on his interminable ride to and from Rick's yesterday, he'd already had to stop twice.

… _must be better … don't feel it … must be though…I'm over half way…_

He was busy admiring the marvelous thoughtfulness of the City Roads Department or whatever department it was that installed dropped kerbs at road junctions for his convenience; too busy to be aware that Cho had slowly pulled out to the street end after he had struggled past and was peering after him, protectively monitoring his labourious progress.

He was also too absorbed to note the dirty blue sedan parked just across the street from the apartment as he wheeled himself into the parking area to sit beside the raised bed full of spiky drought resistant plants and useful gravel.

The man in the blue sedan shrank back behind his oversized steering wheel and pulled the red and white baseball cap down over his face.

And if he'd turned around Jane would have seen a relieved Cho drive slowly past on his way home.

* * *

**Sorry guys, no Lisbon but next chapter will be ALL Jane and Lisbon.**


	16. MrBluesky

**Thanks everyone for all your lovely comments, think I managed to reply to most of you this time … that must be a first. **

**I'm absolutely thrilled at how well this story is being received, so thank you each and every one.**

**This chapter is unashamedly ALL Jane and Lisbon … I really hope you enjoy it … I have a feeling they may be getting along somewhat better today …. which is nice !**

**Oh and I didn't get around to checking it, so sorry for any mistakes/typos and expect a revised version at some stage.**

* * *

Jane was in pain and he was tired, he needed some time to zone out the world and gather his thoughts before switching his internal lights back on for Lisbon.

If there was one thing he had resolved to do while he'd watched his sweet protector asleep last night in a chair right next to him, it was to show her his strength, to be positive, to get himself sorted out for her.

… _some day I won't flick switches between shows … I'll always be_ me_ for her …_

For that he needed energy.

So he sat blissfully motionless for a few minutes, craning his head back, eyes wide. He wondered at how blue the vast California sky was and how endlessly cloudless. If you tipped your head way back it was the only thing there was… absolutely nothing else … it was beautiful …ineffably, amazingly, breathtakingly **beautiful**.

He listened absently to the rhythm of his heart until it's beats slowed from rapid and erratic to play a relaxed melody that he could hardly hear… even above the silence of the sky.

He sat and stared and breathed, and allowed himself to be enveloped.

To be aware of nothing.

The engine of the dirty blue car parked across the road stuttered into clamouring life then found it's uneasy beat and drove smoothly away to park unnoticed under the shade of some overhanging trees further down the street.

The spell was broken.

Jane's body shivered into life.

He rubbed the palms of his hands together hard and with a breathily heavy, but determined sigh, he pushed the right one in among the cool green leaves of the flower bed and picked up some of the multi coloured gravel. He trundled across the parking lot to where he had sat only a day ago and again hurled the stones at Lisbon's living room window.

The noise, this time, was deafening, at least compared to yesterday's feeble efforts. An affectionate twitch pulled at one corner of his lips when the expression he knew was already forming on Lisbon's face flashed before his mind's eye; one of exasperation tempered with 'Jane fatigue', a weary look that was regretfully familiar to him.

… _I _**am**_ exhausting aren't I … and annoying … you love it though…_

Figuring that another gravelly handful was probably pushing his luck and hoping that one would be enough, Jane made his way back to sit in front of the small stone lip from parking to pedestrian area that he knew he couldn't manage and waited quietly, wearing patent smile number four; the one that conveyed casual, happy-go-lucky, unforced contentment. The smile of a man who'd had a pleasant diner breakfast with a friend.

The decision to wheel himself home through the busy street, in spite of the protests of the team had been the right one. It was character building of the most extreme kind; negotiating careless pedestrians too busy to avoid him, dodging curious stares and ignoring pitying whispers that made his skin crawl.

Patrick Jane thrived on adversity. He'd carried that burden for so many years. His self flagellation. Now he wore it almost like a badge. For those he allowed to see. For everyone else it was veiled in smiles.

Today he was as happy as any man could expect to be in his situation, the team were on the job for him, he'd managed to use the bathroom on his own and he'd got home without mishap. He hoped fervently that Lisbon would be impressed.

"Did you miss me?" he greeted his friend merrily as she pulled back the door.

"What do_ you_ think?" she grinned back, pleased to see him in one fairly presentable piece.

"You _know_ you did," he let his mask smile melt like wax to reveal the real thing; a teasing rush of warmth.

"I did."

She coloured imperceptibly and stepped behind his chair.

Lisbon was pleasantly aware of the hand that hung slightly in her path, so that she'd be sure to brush it lightly as she passed, but she studiously ignored the way her thigh tensed at the touch of his dangling fingers and deftly manoeuvred Jane up the step and into his temporary home once more.

Once inside she automatically headed to make Jane some tea, talking as she went.

He wheeled into the kitchen behind her; she Bo Peep and he her faithful little lamb.

"You didn't exert yourself?" she asked, over the sound of the hissing kettle.

"No. I took it easy," he lied, just out of habit. "Like you told me"

"Did you remember to take your pills"

"Yes," he rolled his eyes behind her back, but couldn't resist a grin. "You're beginning to sound like my aunt."

"Well would you have taken them if I hadn't reminded you?"

"No, probably not," he conceded. "but putting them in an evidence baggie in my pocket… like a schoolboy with his lunch money … give it to teacher to look after … really! … embarrassing …"

He didn't really mind. Her propensity for mothering was endearing; a welcome trait, it softened the edge off her hardnosed copness.

Lisbon dunked Jane's teabag.

"I didn't know you had an aunt Jane," she played his game politely.

"No Lisbon. I don't have an aunt. It's just a thing people say … you know … like when you say something is soft as a baby's bottom … they've never even touched a baby's bottom but everybody knows that a baby's bottom feels soft , or at least it's assumed … one assumes an aunt to be overprotective and mollycoddling … so I compare you to a non existent aunt…"

"I am not Jane!" her indignation interrupted.

"An aunt or a mollycoddler," the jester teased.

Lisbon thrust Jane's teacup and saucer into his hand, and walked past him wearing a deliberately irritated frown, to sit on the couch with her coffee, leaving him openmouthed, tea in hand and helpless in the middle of the kitchen.

He sat for a few seconds, waiting; part amused, part frustrated, part depressed again.

"Aren't you coming?" she called lightly.

"Can't yet," he answered, his tone a little less bright, his cocoon of positivity a little deflated, "unless you want to wait while I finish my tea. Or I could try balancing it in my lap while I wheel, but I fear it might slop … and it's hot."

She said nothing, but quietly came and got him then sat in the comfy chair facing him and smiled.

"Sorry," she said bashfully.

"S'alright."

There was a slightly awkward lull.

Jane, for his part, was content to leave it that way, it wasn't he who was feeling uncomfortable, but Lisbon was and the only topic at the forefront of her thoughts was his welfare.

"What did you have for breakfast?"

"I had a delicious breakfast. Thank you for asking."

He delivered his answer with a hopefully winsome smile, to make her happy. "I had fresh orange juice, some very good scrabbled eggs on toast made from wholesome whole grain bread with extra seedy bits and pieces and I had a nice cup of tea."

"Did you eat it?" she peered at him skeptically. His description was that tiny bit too detailed and too enthusiastic.

"Mostly," he shrugged. "We were chatting … some of it got cold."

It was the truth … not his fault the talk took precedence over the food.

Lisbon thought it prudent not the press him on his woefully inadequate food intake. It was another process to be tackled slowly and whatever a mollycoddler was, she understood what he meant and she didn't want to be it.

"So are you up for going to the park this afternoon?" she suggested. "It's a lovely day. We could take a picnic."

She took a long considered look at him. "After you've had a rest that is… you're looking tired and kinda pasty … is your headache back?"

He took a sip of tea and didn't answer.

… _usually a mistake not to answer …conclusions get jumped to … often correct …_

"Your headache's back," she informed him. "I can tell by the way you frown every time you think I'm not looking ."

He huffed and squirmed.

"Not frowning … thinking."

"You're grey."

"_You're_ frowning," he deflected, his expression not changing out of neutral. "Do _you_ have a headache?"

"Jane …"

He hurriedly deposited his empty cup on the table and raised his hands in that well used surrender pose that he had to resort to so often at crime scenes.

"Take me to the park then … for some fresh air and some vitamin D … did you know it aids the absorption of calcium Lisbon? … I could probably benefit from some ... for my bones."

He really loved it when he succeeded in provoking her to get all stern with him, even in all her femininity and sweetness she never lost that steely edge of ferocity that did it's best to dissemble her concern for him. It made him smile again. She hated it. Or loved it.

"Rest first Jane," she used her ferocious voice and her steely glare, "Get on the couch and have a sleep. Then we'll see."

She took a pillow from Jane's bedding which she'd folded neatly at the end of the coffee table and placed it in position for him.

"Come on," she encouraged.

He pivoted expertly and parked in position beside the couch, "I see it's arrived then," he observed with disinterest, at the same time concentrating on finding a comfortable position on the narrow space that served as his bed. There weren't many options … on your back or on your back but a bit less flat. No room to spread.

"Can I have another pillow Lisbon?"

She handed him the other pillow and draped the blue blanket loosely over his feet. "Want this?" she asked, then realized she'd missed his previous comment.

"What did you say Jane?"

He pushed up on his elbows so she could tuck the second pillow carefully under his mussed up curls.

"It's arrived,"

His gesture was one of his grandiose sweeps of the arm, toward the inelegantly functional piece of equipment stationed just inside the open bathroom door.

"My chamber pot, my gazunda, my john, my potty, my loo, … commode … call it what you will Lisbon," he grinned up at her with laughing eyes, stifling a boyish giggle … … it was so tragic you _had_ to laugh. "I must say it's a huge relief though. In more ways than one …"

She felt her face crumple into a girlish version of his. Giggling at Patrick Jane reeling off such a list in her living room was certainly the most bizarrely juvenile thing she'd done in … perhaps in her whole life, given the grim circumstances.

Lisbon's heart swelled with warmth and it's heat showed in her cheeks.

… _only with Jane … _

"Yes," she chuckled. "We don't want you to outstay your welcome at Rick's, do we."

He pulled the blanket up and held it coyly underneath his chin, "Why?" he asked, eyes shining with cheeky innocence in his pale face. "I'm swelling their coffers, brightening their days … I bet they haven't had so much entertainment in years … I could charge … 'come look at the crazy guy' …"

… _not so very funny …really …_

"Why would you think people see you as a crazy guy Jane?"

"Because it's what I usually show them."

Both smiles faded to bitter sadness in the moment when their eyes met, a mirror of the unspoken understanding that built daily by miniscule degrees between them, an understanding that nudged it's way into their hearts alongside that other thing that had been building by degrees.

It was only a moment.

A moment in a ten year plus process.

"I _am_ tired," he said. "I think I'll take a little nap."

… _and I'm done with playing 'reasons to be cheerful' …_

"OK," she turned away to close the blinds. "When you wake up, I'll show you what I've bought you to wear."

When she looked at him again his eyes were firmly closed, his fingers relaxed around the edge of the blanket and the rise and fall of his chest slow and rhythmic.

"You'd better not complain," she whispered through a smile.

"Just no synthetics …" he murmured.

XXXXXXXX

"Let me push."

"I can do it on my own Lisbon. Besides you've got that rucksack. Anyway I came all the way back from Rick's without stopping."

… _well only a couple of times… what's a couple of stops between friends …_

"You don't have to do it on your own you know."

"I know."

He took his hands from the wheels and laid them in his lap.

"That wasn't what I meant," she said and pushed anyway.

"I know."

Lisbon leant forward and marched slowly and silently along the hardened gravel path that wound across the open lawns toward the children's play area and the shady groups of trees that lay beyond.

The sun shone with a late autumn glow and a well mannered breeze wafted through the park, delivering sounds and scents and fallen leaves.

Jane let his head fall back, closed his eyes and listened.

The hum of the traffic behind them gradually faded, the distant sound of shrill young voices laughing and screaming grew louder, birds came and went, adding their joyful optimism in shrill flurries and the crunchy sound of her feet and his wheels on solid earth anchored them.

"Half an hour wasn't very long Jane."

"No, but I'm fine."

"You didn't sleep much last night."

"Stop worrying woman and look up at the sky."

"You want me to drive you headlong into a bench?"

"No. I'd prefer not. Just stop for a minute and look up."

She grumbled, but pulled Jane's chair over to the edge of the path and shrugged the heavy picnic bag off her shoulders, dumping it on the grass. She stretched her back and shoulders to iron out the kinks and following his example started gazing at the sky.

"What do you see?" he asked her and she could hear him willing her to discover what _he_ was feeling for herself, without his prompting.

She understood what he wanted her to see; she hid her soulful side behind the task of getting on with life, but it was there, shielded in case of hurt. She saw what her 'could be soul mate' saw, but she wanted to listen to the way his heart shone through his words when he talked about something so very special, so instead she said.

"I see cloudless sky Jane … lots of it."

"Have you ever really looked at the sky Lisbon … how very intensely blue it is … is there anything in the whole wide world that's quite as blue a shade of blue as that?" He stopped midstream as though a new idea had captured his imagination, "... except maybe Yves Klein Blue ... and that's an invented colour."

Jane's eyes were gleaming now, a shining mirror of the turquoise expanse above them. He lowered them to blink away the brightness.

"Have you seen Yves Klein Blue Lisbon? … No? He was an artist who used this fabulously luxurious shade of blue in so many of his paintings that he decided to name it after himself … bit arrogant you might think, but it's a great blue."

He stopped to draw breath and cough a bit, before rolling the stiffness out of his neck and throwing his head back to the sky again.

"And it's all the more incredible because the sky's not really blue … well it is and it isn't. It's only blue because of something called Rayleigh scattering. You know light's really white don't you, but it's made of all the colours of the rainbow … and on it's way through the atmosphere the blue light gets absorbed by gas molecules, mostly oxygen, and then scattered out in all directions for us to enjoy."

He waved his hands vigorously as if to scatter the blue. "So if you think about it I guess if it didn't happen the sky would be sort of invisible … isn't that spooky?"

Lisbon was enraptured, no longer paying any attention to the sky but marveling at her consultant's passion for life and knowledge. His expressive hands showed her everything his words could not, and the light dancing like fireflies in his eyes showed her so much more.

She was thrilled for him and by him, but her heart ached that a man with so much thirst for life seemed doomed to spend his own existence mired in the almost perpetual darkness of his tortured mind.

"Why the blue and not the red and yellow?" she asked him. "How come sunsets and sunrises are red and gold?"

Jane turned a sunny smile on her and thought.

"I can't recall …"

He furrowed his brow, then relaxed it and beamed again.

"It's complicated," he told her. "but it doesn't matter, does it? We should just appreciate it. Don't you think?"

Lisbon smiled, her face a picture of admiration and affection, dampened by something else.

"Yes Jane. I think we should."

She picked up the bag containing their food and wearily attempted to hoist it onto her shoulders.

The sadness betrayed by her unenthusiastic movement fell heavy on Jane's conscience, he seemed destined to make her sad, even when he was happy … and for those few moments, sharing the magnificence of the sky with her, he had been truly happy.

Perhaps it was his fate to make his Lisbon sad.

"Here …" He held out his arms. "Put the bag on my lap. It won't hurt."

XXX

They ate their healthy meal under the shade of a large sycamore tree, a little way past the playground and right in the middle of the park, where fewer people could be bothered to venture. It was late in the day to stop for lunch so they only shared the cooling cover of the tree's all enveloping branches with the squirrels and the birds.

Lisbon spread a blanket on the damp grass and started to unpack their food: barbequed chicken legs, green salad, tomatoes, crusty brown rolls, yogurts, apples and an unhealthy treat … blueberry muffins, washed down with plain old water.

Jane watched her with fascination as she arranged the meal and got out napkins and spoons, knives and a little tub of sunflower spread for the rolls. She wasn't Teresa Lisbon, cop lady. She was something he didn't get to see very often; a warm, lively, giving and very desirable woman sharing a sunny afternoon with _him_. He was so lucky to have her as his partner.

"I do appreciate all this you know," he told her very seriously.

She started loading up a green melamine picnic plate for him, "I'd do it for anybody Jane," she said. "Bit of everything?"

"Yep, thanks," he said. "But you're doing it for _me_, and that's more difficult."

"Ssshh Jane... there's no need ... really... eat up."

So Jane sat, plate laden with food in his lap, but made no move to eat.

For several minutes he continued looking down at his brown haired friend sitting comfortably with her jean clad legs outstretched before her, eating her picnic lunch. He regarded her with a deeply thoughtful expression, and several times she thought he was going to say something momentous. Then he cleared his throat and tentatively ventured a suggestion.

"Umm … do you think I could get down there and sit on the grass with you."

The response he received was one of mild surprise and uncertainty.

"Ja…eeenne …" the sound stretched into an exasperated whine.

"I think I could slide down if you could stop the chair from tipping … take off the leg rest things, I'll just let my legs down gently, slide them along the grass as I edge myself forward and lower myself down… like doing dips … I have strong arms."

She did her practiced 'eyes heavenward' eye roll. He grinned, but kept _his_ eyes serious.

"I might land with a bit of a bump, but I think it'll be fine."

"Jane, you'll hurt yourself. And how on earth do you expect to get back in."

Lisbon felt her heart thumping angrily and heard her voice growing anxious at the prospect of what could happen.

"I'm strong Jane," she growled at him, wishing he would switch off that persuasive charm of his and stop with the reasonable 'you know I'm right' voice. "… but there's no way I could bear your weight."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," he assured her smoothly. "Someone's bound to come along … sooner or later."

"No Jane!" she scowled.

"Yes Lisbon!" he grinned. "It'll be fine. You have your cell with you, don't you?"

"And who do you intend to phone? … the fire department with their heavy lifting gear…"

"If necessary, yes." And he meant it. "They owe me."

"Why? What did you do?"

"Oh I don't know, but they must do …"

A few minutes later Patrick Jane was lying star shaped on the grass popping baby tomatoes into his grinning mouth.

"Oh, Lisbon you have no idea how good this feels. I've been dying to lie flat and spread out. And I'm fine now. No harm done"

He hoped no one heard the loud yelps when his arms couldn't slow his descent any more and his bottom hit the ground with a thud that sent shock waves round to revisit all his healing injuries.

"Need to sit up to eat though. Give us a pull."

So Lisbon stood one foot either side of Jane's outstretched star shape body and offered him her hands. He slid his fingers slowly past hers to find her wrists and she automatically curled her hands around his. He didn't use her weight to pull himself up. He simply held her there and studied her face until he saw the telltale flush that confirmed her attention was on him and him alone.

"Thank you Teresa," he said. "You're a true friend."

Her head tilted and she half smiled and raised an eyebrow in flustered disbelief at the intensity of his declaration. "Do _you_ want something?"

"Yes," he grinned. "Chicken and that blueberry muffin."

He flexed his elbows and pulled himself to sit up, releasing her hands with a lingering smile.

"You did well with the clothes Lisbon," he informed her, his mouth wrapped around a half eaten chicken leg. "These shorts are very acceptable. I think I could become accustomed to a more casual wardrobe, as long as it's natural fibres, and your choice of colour palette is excellent."

She laughed. She had stuck with subdued blues, greys and charcoals … his usual. She'd never seen him in anything else … why rock the boat? … especially this particular boat.

"And thank you for bringing my shoes home."

"Jane are you sure you're all right. You're being very 'thankful' today."

She gave him a wary look to go with the speech marks her fingers drew in the air on the word thankful.

"You deserve it Lisbon. And I'm feeling a lot better. Thank you for asking."

He smiled that wicked smile, tilted his head and shrugged. It reminded her of the time when she'd walked into the bullpen to find him discovering that he could see again.

She'd been studying his face earlier, while he'd been reciting his eulogy to the spendour of the California sky and had found the results very encouraging. She examined it again.

Apart from the disfiguring graze, which was now a dark cracking scab well on it's way to healing, his skin was pale, but not grey like before he'd had his half hour snooze or sallow. It was the very pale fresh pink of a naturally fair skinned person, and covered with light golden freckles that had never been noticeable before. And his deeply etched worry lines seemed somehow softer, more relaxed today.

"You are a lot better, aren't you. I don't think I've heard you cough very much either."

"No, it doesn't feel too bad," he said, taking a deep breath and considering the result. "But I'm going to have to lie down again. It's never easy sitting like this is it, gives you backache. Or arm ache from holding yourself upright. Wish I could curl my legs up."

"I know what you mean."

Lisbon unfurled _her_ legs self-consciously and reached over to get something from the bag.

"Here we forgot these, before you lie down."

She thrust an evidence bag of pills and a bottle of water at him.

"I was wondering about your book Jane," she ventured while he was still distracted, taking short slurps of water and frowning about something. "You were so worried about it back in the hospital, yet you haven't picked it up since you've been home."

"Yeah, that."

His furrowed brow tensed briefly then relaxed to dull acceptance. "I tried to work on it the night before I came home, but I couldn't concentrate at all … I decided to give it a break for a while. It can wait."

… _must get the memory palace sorted … Monday …when Lisbon's back at work …and this headache's gone …_

He looked sadly at her. "I guess my brain could do with a rest … eh, Lisbon?"

"That's probably a good thing," she advised him. "And I suppose that blueberry muffin wouldn't do any harm would it?"

"Ahhhhh… blueberries … one of the widely acknowledged super foods. Got to be good for the brain."

He picked up his muffin, stripped off the paper case with meticulous precision and split the crumbly cake, as best he could, down the middle.

"Share?"

"Don't mind if I do ."

With their pudding eaten, Jane struggled painfully out of his vest, folded it into a neat square pillow and laid himself gingerly down again.

He rolled his sore right shoulder gently a couple of times and rubbed at it for a while, his eyes closed and his lips pursed. He moaned quietly and complained. "Wish this would loosen up a bit."

Then he snapped his eyes open to beam at Lisbon for a second.

"Come on, lie down here with me. You're looking untidy up there."

So she lay down beside him, half on the blanket and half on the spongey grass, so that they were close but not touching and she tried to make herself relax. It didn't come naturally to her and she couldn't make it so, the way he appeared to be able to, although she did still have trouble figuring out Jane's relaxed from his faking it.

"Lisbon," he said drowsily after a few minutes. "Put your head on my chest and see how much better I am."

"I won't hurt you?" she asked cautiously, shuffling closer.

"No, not if you stick to the left and take care."

The linen of his shirt was soft and comfortable and his body was warm and unfamiliar, it had been over a year since he had last hugged her properly and it wouldn't be fair to count that desperate scene in front of her apartment when he'd come home from hospital.

They both flinched as little as she rested her ear and then the whole weight of her head on his ribs, just to the left side of his heart.

"Listen, Lisbon. Not really wheezy at all now am I," he told her, the purr of his quiet words reverberating in a fuzzy murmur in her brain.

"See …" he whispered. " … on the mend."

"Well, there's still a little wheezing Jane … _more than a little actually …_ you shouldn't lie down like this on the damp grass for long…"

… but she could hear how strong and regular his heart beat was.

… _he has the heart of a lion … brave and strong … who cares if he pretends otherwise …_

"Hhhmmm…" he murmured.

She saw his eyelids react to a passing thought, and his lips purse as if to reply.

"Did you want to talk Jane?"

She hoped maybe he did.

He took some time to answer, slurred and lazy. "Sleeping, Lisbon … later…"

Was this one of those times when he used sleep as an avoidance? He did it so often, like the little boy who cried wolf, and was rudely kicked awake; served him right. But this time his face soon dissolved into the slackness that came when body won out over mind. No faking.

Lisbon slid her head from his body. It wasn't that she wanted to; they would both be uncomfortable within minutes. She sat and watched until sleep had taken him totally, then she lay down close beside him. His arm slipped slowly down from where she had rested it to replace the missing weight of her head and his hand unconsciously sought out the comfort of her warmth.

They lay together, his arm just barely draped over her hip and she listening to his occasional faint incoherently sleepy mumblings for almost an hour.

XXXXXX

His hand was limp and heavy, a macabre reminder of the dark day when it had lain cold at his side on the gurney and she'd been so afraid to loose him. She picked it up at the wrist, the pulse ticking like clockwork under her fingers, and she wriggled out from under his curled arm.

In five minutes the bag was packed except for the blanket he lay on. It seemed a shame to disturb him, but the sun was beginning it's long descent and grey clouds were gathering.

"Jane … Jane … Patrick … wake up …"

His eyes opened with a flicker and he gasped, surprised by his surroundings.

"We have to go home, it's getting chilly and damp and I think it might rain."

"Ugh … umm… what time is it…" he started struggling to get up, rolling over as if to push himself up onto his knees, dragging his cumbersome legs as if he'd forgotten for a moment.

"Stop Jane." She pushed him firmly down. "You're not really awake. Lie down for a bit."

He slumped back down, grimacing and moaning, his eyes screwed tightly shut and his teeth biting against the self inflicted agony; not really awake but alert enough to wish he was still asleep.

"Jane. Just don't move. Try to breathe through it. Try to relax."

She felt ridiculous, feeding Jane his own lines. She'd seen him do it dozens of times; take away pain with a gentle hand, the caress of his silky voice and a few well chosen words. She did her best with sincerity and fear. It appeared to work. Somewhat.

"Jane, I'm worried about the weather. We don't want to get wet. _I don't want _you _to get wet. _There are some people over there. I'll see if they can come and help me get you up."

He blinked, frowned and drew a sharp breath that she could see was hurting. His eyes opened, wide and watery, sea green pools gazing up at her helplessly, all the joy and belief of the day battered down by frustration and despair.

"Not going anywhere …" he said.

"Won't be a minute." She gave his arm a strengthening squeeze.

It was only a fifty yard sprint to the bench where the couple sat.

An odd couple, she thought. Not that it mattered. He, an unremarkable middle aged man in dull clothes, a baseball cap shielding his face from the setting sun, and she, maybe just over half his age, fair, pretty and smiling, dressed in bright florals and more animated than her disinterested companion.

An odd combination, Lisbon thought. Perhaps father and daughter, but possibly not. They didn't seem comfortable in that way. Not in any way. But they were connected, as if by a thread of nervous tension. Jane would know.

Lisbon addressed the man, since it was his help she needed. The girl's smile stayed, like the fixed rosebud mouth on a porcelain doll, as she watched, hanging on her 'friend's' every word, diverting from him only to cast an occasional curiously unsympathetic glance at the man lying under the big sycamore tree next to his wheelchair.

"I'll stay and look after our belongings," she informed Lisbon when the nondescript man rose quietly to gladly offer his help.

The man didn't engage in conversation during their short walk into the shade of the tree, not even to enquire about her friend's predicament, but he came willingly, so Lisbon didn't let his aloof manner bother her. She was more concerned about Jane.

She could see him as they left the girl sitting, unconcerned, on the bench. He was half sitting up now, facing slightly away from them, bracing himself on one arm and with the other hand over his mouth. His back heaved spasmodically with the force of wracking coughs.

She ran ahead, unzipped the picnic bag and found his bottle of water and some tissues.

The man came and stood beside them, "You should take more care of your friend Miss," he commented monotonously.

Jane didn't register the meaning of the words, he wasn't listening, but the malevolence in them hovered over him like a cloying shroud. He felt it writhe and wrap its sickly arms around him, but he couldn't muster the will to look at the man … his brain had given up making connections.

Lisbon had no care for what the man had said. She was enclosed safely in the bubble of her concern for Jane. She supported and held him and rubbed soothing patterns on his back while he tried to cough away the sticky congestion of half an afternoon's sleep.

The anonymous stranger waited patiently, making no further comment, until Jane at last recovered and Lisbon gave him the water bottle to hold while she tidied away the soiled tissues into one of the plastic bags that had contained their food. She stowed in the backpack.

"You OK now?" she knelt down and looked into Jane's slightly reddened eyes.

"Yeah. I'm fine." He dredged up a smile from somewhere. "Shall we go now. We shouldn't keep our very obliging friend here waiting."

Getting Jane safely back into his chair was a far smoother operation than Lisbon had feared. He didn't make a fuss, he did his best to relax and allow himself to be manhandled … even kept his mouth shut when tempted to tell them that they weren't using the method adhered to by his nurses, who were the experts after all.

A few minutes later, the autumn light was fading to dusk, and Jane and Lisbon were half way to the large gates at the entrance to the park. Jane sat, ashen faced again, nursing the picnic bag on his lap and another headache that he didn't tell her about and didn't intend to. The picnic blanket was draped over his shoulders because Lisbon had told him she was afraid he'd get cold.

He stretched his arm back awkwardly and curled his fingers over her hand. Hers was cold from the evening chill. His was warm from being under the blanket.

"I've had a lovely afternoon, Teresa. Despite the sticky ending."

"I enjoyed it too Jane. Despite the sticky ending."

They shared an ironic smile.

As the park gate clanged shut behind them he asked the question that had been nagging him. He cloaked the unsettled feeling he had in humour when he asked her.

"By the way … who was that masked man?"

"I've no idea Jane," she said. "Good thing he was there though."

"So … not The Lone Ranger then."

* * *

**Whoa that was a long chapter and nothing much really happened ….. hope it didn't bore you … I have been told I can be a little wordy … I'm getting a bit carried away maybe!**

**Next chapter may take slightly longer as I have to get the logistics of the plot right …. more going on next time …. I promise!**


	17. Casino Dreaming

**Hello there, once again thanks for all your lovely comments follows and faves. **

**Hope you like this chapter, plenty of variety and I hope it moves the story on.**

**Keep looking for clues!**

* * *

For the fourth painful time that night Jane woke with a start, to another unwelcome spell of confusion, fear and loneliness. This time though, it was different, he felt instinctively something was wrong.

The room was too silent. Empty. As if someone had been with him and now was gone.

"Lisbonnnnn…." he called out shakily, still sleepy, nerves still jangling. He kept his voice quite low, not wanting to frighten her awake, but desperate for her presence.

No answer.

Not a sound.

It was four in the morning; another thin grey dawn peeping through the blinds, another restless night cut short and no chance of any more sleep.

He tried to quell his uneasiness … _just paranoia again … _and wondered if he'd be able to reach everything in the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea.

As his legs swung round and landed one by one on the beige footstool, his eyes found the coffee table.

And there it was.

His friendly blue cup and saucer, and next to it a sunny yellow thermos flask.

Sitting underneath the teacup was a sheet of paper torn hastily from a spiral bound shorthand pad and wedged inside the cup were the four little individual baggies containing his medication for the day.

_Dear Patrick, _the note began.

He stopped. Or rather his heart did. For a beat or two.

_Dear Patrick,_

_It's almost four o'clock. I'm trying hard not to wake you. Sorry if I do._

_Cho called, we have a job. Double homicide out near Lake Tahoe. Looks like it may be an easy one, but it's a two hour drive so we may be gone all day._

_I've left you some tea. There's iced water in the fridge and leftovers from yesterday …you won't go hungry. _

_VanPelt's liaising from the office, so call her if you need anything. I've asked her to pop in and see you sometime this afternoon to make you some more tea, she'll bring something hot to eat and I'll phone you when I get a chance._

_Keep your cell by your side and behave yourself … you'll be fine … I'll be back tonight._

_Sorry,_

_Teresa._

She called him Patrick!

She called him Patrick and signed off 'Teresa' …

In a dizzy haze, he unscrewed the top of the thermos and watched with a stupid adolescent grin as the steamy sepia stream filled the cup then flowed over the edge and into the saucer.

She called him Patrick!

… _oh God man … get a grip …she calls Bertram Gale …_

When he'd gathered his wits Jane mopped up with a tissue, lobbed it with zesty panache into the wire bin across the room and wondered why.

The tea was great, he swilled down his first lot of pills with his second cup and sat back to plan his day.

Had she finally stopped using his last name as a shield against her feelings?

Was the use of his given name merely a slip? Was it inveigling it's way into her psyche, becoming natural?

Or had she called him Patrick to put him in a good mood?

It did anyway, even though he soon decided she wasn't that devious a person. So Jane approached the daunting prospect of the long Sunday that stretched ahead of him with optimism and mental vigour. Once he got used to the idea he realized that there was a lot he could get done without Lisbon under his feet, so to speak.

It was only four thirty, all still quiet in the street below and his flask was almost half empty, but he was nevertheless discovering that there were plenty of reasons to be positive.

At least he wouldn't have to shoo her upstairs or into the kitchen while he sat on his throne near the entrance to the bathroom. And he wouldn't have to endure the humiliation of having her help him change his undies; three times was already way too many and with luck, by the time she returned, one of the team might have acquired that handy gadget that would solve the problem. For now he would stay in his pyjama bottoms.

By five he'd got himself into his wheelchair, visited his temporary bathroom, found himself a clean shirt from the bag Lisbon had stowed neatly under the stairs where he could still reach it, and wheeled himself into the bathroom to peer at himself in the mirror. His hair made him look like a scarecrow, but he couldn't find his comb and couldn't reach the cupboard that might possibly contain one. He teased out the flat bits and fluffed up his curls until he thought he'd achieved an air of rakish charm then he gave himself a smile and cleaned his teeth. Then he'd found that he was hungry and rifled through the leftovers in the fridge. The yogurt that they hadn't eaten yesterday, while no substitute for eggs, was good.

By six, boredom was already beginning to set it. He'd picked up his little black book, thumbed tentatively through the first few pages and put it down again as though it would burn his fingers. He was sorely tempted and starting to get agitated but he dare not approach the thing again until he could be sure his memory palace was intact or at least repairable. And there was something stopping him from tackling that task.

Yesterday he'd told himself that Monday, when Lisbon had to return to the office, would be the opportunity to begin the palace overhaul. Now it could be today, serendipity had bumped his schedule forward, and getting his head sorted early could well push him one step closer to clearing the air with Lisbon properly.

They'd had a very pleasant evening after their adventure in the park. He'd been shivering went they eventually got home as the sun was dipping and the air was cooling, so she'd insisted he get washed and helped him change into his bedclothes straight away so that he could 'snuggle down and get warm' while she tidied and ordered take out.

He didn't see the point in objecting; her mother hen impression was charming and he felt loved and wanted in a way he had never been, even in childhood. _Except by Angela._

Conversation had been easy and carefree, and had only drifted to a close when his eyelids begun to droop, and the throbbing in his head had forced his brow into telltale furrows and she had noticed.

Over the evening he'd learned something of her life as a rookie cop and her early days working with Sam Boscoe. It was nice to see that her reminiscences were only faintly tinged with sadness, she remembered her days with Boscoe fondly; his loss not forgotten but accepted. And to her surprise, Jane had admitted a sneaking admiration for his former adversary.

In return Jane had regaled her with an exciting stream of some of the more acceptable and amusing adventures of his life on the carnival circuit. Some were true, some embellished and some were tales to entertain her. He never mentioned his parents and she didn't like to ask, and he only referred to Angela in passing, skipping very lightly over her name.

They'd laughed and talked and built delicate invisible bridges, and all the time the elephant in the room sat in the corner being very deliberately ignored by both of them.

Now she was gone and he was left kicking his heels and realizing that he was lonely.

Another hour had passed and Jane had done a few laps of the living room, browsed through Lisbon's bookshelves (now containing mostly his own books, all of which he'd read). He'd vetted and approved or disapproved her CD and DVD collection, had a swig or two of water from the bottle in the fridge, decided what he was having for lunch and sat at the window for a few minutes observing the cars parked across the street: two big silver SUV's, a brown convertible, a blue sedan and a small yellow import.

More than once he had considered setting about the task of sorting the memory palace, but couldn't for the life of him work out why he had dismissed it every time and why he found himself so restless. For a man who spent so much time alone and comfortable that way, it was unnerving.

So he was about to re-install himself on the couch to tackle a Sudoku Book when his cell started to wriggle on the table like a noisy jumping bean.

"Rigsby, my man … did she let you escape?" he asked, a little defated that it wasn't Lisbon. Would have been nice to make her suffer for waking him so early.

"How goes the case … anything juicy?" he simulated interest anyway.

"Hi Jane, you OK?" came the unexpectedly furtive reply. "We need to meet. I have some news."

Jane's ears pricked like a hound dog hot on the trail and he felt his pulse race alarmingly.

"I'm fine Rigsby. Now spill. Quick!" he urged excitedly.

"Can't Jane. Boss's coming," the man at the end of the phone line whispered, and Jane could hear the unmistakably piercing shrieks of his partner on the warpath in the background.

"I'll see you in the morning, and Cho said to tell you he's got that litter picker thing …. Sorry! Gotta go."

Rigsby's promise of news whistled through Jane's fusty brain like a breath of fresh air, a cool breeze whisking away the cobwebs, and it brought with it clarity and vision, and renewed energy.

A triumphant smile spread around his face; today was going to be the day when the palace would again become fit for a king.

It suddenly became ludicrously clear.

The reason he was unable to remove himself from reality to find total concentration, the reason for his disquietude, was his location.

It was the apartment.

It was full of essence of Lisbon: her smell, her clothes, her taste, her personal pictures …. she was still here watching over him.

It wasn't that he didn't need Lisbon, didn't miss her.

What he needed was to be alone.

But he wasn't alone and he was finding his accommodation claustrophobic, too homely, too pleasant and too far distant from the life of denial he had become accustomed to. What he needed was a certain atmosphere, one of cold detachment, empty of distractions and humanity and any trace of Lisbon.

In short, he needed his attic.

He missed it; his gloomy old lair, with it's uninterrupted view of the city rooftops. Where he could see the world but not be seen, be a part of everything yet disappear into anonymity. He could cease to exist for a few brief hours. He could stop pretending.

The attic had a special stillness that was so right for him, he seemed to melt into it's lack of colour when he entered, like a ghost, disturbing nothing, not even the dust.

He was comfortable there.

There was no one to tell him to snap out of it. No one to ask him for the tenth time if he was OK. No one to judge him, or see him wake from another dream or watch him quietly curse.

Except when he drank the tea.

And except when Lisbon came knocking at the door.

Gradually the room had come to accept his colleague and her newly recognized role as his partner and she had understood the way it was with him and his retreat … it was like another world, a stepping stone, a limbo land of calm and quiet where he could wear his guilt without shame and be himself and plot and hope and scheme and dream of how to catch Red John.

Sitting here in her cosy little apartment he missed the freedom of the attic.

It was hard … to be sitting, trapped here in her sitting room by his own foolishness, unable to simply throw off the shackles of his pseudo personality and charge off up those familiar stairs to lay there fully clothed in his hair shirt, on his bed of nails.

And he certainly couldn't think freely here.

So he didn't get back onto the couch.

He had to escape.

He went and found the backpack where Lisbon had left it carelessly discarded on a chair in the kitchen. He got a fresh bottle of water from the fridge, packed some of yesterday's leftovers in a Tupperware and stowed them in the bag with the half empty Thermos, one of the bags of pills … _just to prove I can be responsible …_and finally his precious book_. _Then he popped his phone in the pocket of his vest and as an afterthought unzipped the bag again to put in his lock picks and a couple of pens.

Something made him hesitate on his way to the door.

He turned around and went to stare pensively out of the window. The street had changed. Early morning's cool blue shadows were shorter and warmer, stragglers late for work or on their way to who knows where strode or meandered aimlessly along the sidewalks and the parked cars were different: only one silver SUV instead of two, two white vans, the yellow import and the old blue sedan.

He rolled over to the side table by the couch and wrote a note.

_Grace. _

_Gone to the park to ponder. I'll be under the sycamore tree; ask Lisbon. And tell her not to worry about me._

_Jane._

Lisbon hadn't phoned yet.

… _I'll just wait until she calls … in case she worries …_

He laid the paper on the coffee table, in the middle where vanPelt would be sure not to miss it and took up station by the window to sudoku …_can I use that as a verb? … _and to wait for the vibration in his pocket.

By the time the call came Jane had reached the half way point in the Advanced Sudoku Puzzle Book No.24. It was slow going, he was being impatient and not as quick as usual, he kept forgetting the number combinations he'd already tried and it was fast becoming irksome.

He snatched the cell from it's pocket.

"Lisbon," he feigned nonchalance.

"Hey Jane," she sounded busy. "You alright?"

"Never better Lisbon."

"Don't say that Jane," she scolded. "What time did you wake? Did you get my note? Have you eaten?"

"You woke me at four. I've read your note. I've had two cups of tea, thank you for that, by the way. No, my head's not too bad. I've taken my pills, had a yogurt, changed my shirt, tidied my hair and cleaned my teeth, re catalogued your CDs and DVDs into alphabetical, started an in depth survey of the parking outside your humble abode and completed half a book of puzzles. And yes, I'm fine."

He sat back to imagine her temper slowly coming to the boil, then smiled at the hopeful notion that he might have amused rather than annoyed her.

"Are you bored Jane?" Her question was tainted with 'Jane fatigue'.

… _hhmmm … amusement, a touch of concern, exasperation and she's itching to get off the line…_

"Yes Mom."

"I'll _try_ to get back soon. It looks like a straightforward case; break in gone wrong, but it's on a busy street so there are dozens of witnesses to interview, so I can't see us getting away til evening." He noted that she sounded tired. "VanPelt has my spare keys so she can let herself in if you're asleep. I have to go … "

He heard her falter as if she didn't know how to make that leap from businesslike to something more emotional; heard her swallow back the kind of goodbye she wanted to say but couldn't for fear of the way it would sound as it clambered out.

"Teresa, I'll be fine. Don't worry. I'm a big boy."

"That's what worries me," she found her Senior Agent Lisbon tongue again.

"Be careful Lisbon."

"See you tonight Jane."

"I'll wait up for you, Honeybun."

He snapped his phone shut and hid it hurriedly in his pocket, secretly hoping he _hadn't_ been swift enough to avoid her catching his wicked snigger.

… _ooooh I do so hope someone's …preferably Rigsby …she'll never hide it …her blushing fury …_

xxxx

The anticipation of hearing Rigsby's 'news' propelled Jane speedily along the path that wound in a stony ribbon through the park as though it were the Yellow Brick Road leading to the Emerald City.

Just to the left of the path lay the copse of trees, the dappled shade of the distinguished old sycamore and the prospect of solitude and peace. It seemed an awful lot further than it had yesterday, but then he'd had Lisbon's company and she'd done all the pushing. That didn't bother Jane one tiny bit, with all his new found giddy optimism.

He parked up behind the gnarled brown trunk, facing away from the path and prying eyes, with the tree's huge protective girth at his back, and he fished the Thermos flask from the bag on his lap.

If there was one thing better than a cup of tea in the open air, on a warm day, after exertion, it was a _fresh_ cup of tea in a proper cup and all of the aforementioned. It reached the parts that other beverages couldn't come close to. It released his tension and soothed the soul. And it tasted good … stale or not.

It was nearly lunchtime, he was sure of it, so Jane did as the doctor ordered, swallowing his pills with the last tanniny mouthful and then he leant back and directed his gaze up through the maze of branches to the heavens. He didn't think to eat because his insides and his mind were too detached by the euphoria of being properly alone with his thoughts. His empty gut didn't tell his hope intoxicated brain that he should eat and his brain couldn't have cared less.

The leaves were changing hue with the shortening autumn days, and as they blossomed through yellow, gold and amber to flame and deepest crimson, they started on their fluttery journey to earth, catching the sun on their way to be given an extra boost of intensity. To transform them into glittering papery jewels.

Jane studied the way the sun peeped through the holes left by the fallen gems and felt disconsolate when the grey clouds sometimes covered the sun to rob the jewels of their colour.

He gave himself up to the hypnotic motion of the falling leaves and the sound of the wind in the old tree.

He closed his eyes and stood outside his memory palace.

The Casino lights were shining, gaudy candy colours, a flashing temptation, an invitation to the weak willed and desperate; come and lose your savings here, stay all night and forget your troubles, they proclaimed.

Jane took a closer look, some neon tubes were broken, flickering on and off, dangling dangerously but trying to shine. The windows had been hastily patched and leaked a little less light. The doorknob had been polished and the fallen autumn leaves brushed untidily to the side of the step.

He turned the big brass knob cautiously, gave the door a hesitant nudge and waited for it to swing open.

There she stood; not a woman you'd necessarily pick out of the crowd.

But _his_ woman.

Lovely, feminine and confident.

She hadn't changed.

"I've been waiting for you Patrick"

She held out her hand and he tried to take her in his arms, but all he felt was the autumn breeze, warm promises slipping through his fingers.

"I've missed you so …" his words were almost lost in feeble, helpless sobs.

"I know, I miss you too," _her_ words were a murmured covenant of undying devotion … immortal love that transcends death.

She was so close and yet so far away.

A passing stranger would have seen a solitary figure, sitting silently with arms outstretched to embrace the memory of his long dead wife. They might have noticed the silent salty rivulets flooding slowly past his wistful smile and dripping on his blue pyjama pants. And they might have heard him talking to a ghost.

"Is Charlotte with you?"

"She's in her room, I think she's said her piece, don't you?"

"Then why are _you_ here?"

Angela beckoned and Patrick followed her into the brash casino foyer.

"I'm here because you need me to be here. I'm here to help you."

"I didn't come in here for a lecture Angie. I have work to do. To end it." He paused, uncertain.

"That's what you want, isn't it? I have to clean up the palace … if I'm to be able to end it."

"Charlotte told me you were a hopeless case, she said you won't be deterred. And I know you're getting close. I can help."

"I don't know if you can."

"Come, let me show you," his beloved wife told him.

He followed.

Angela smiled and led him past the brightly lit reception desk, manned by a Jewish man who's son's bar mitzvah he'd turned into an opportunity. The guy had never forgiven him. He was at his appointed place in Jane's memory, so all was well.

She took him into the main public gaming room, with it's serried rows of pinball machines, ringing, clanking and flashing all the colours of the rainbow, and the dozens of fruit machines with their spinning oranges, bells and stars and their noisy streams of tokens spewing out generously only to be foolishly re invested.

Almost every machine was occupied by an acquaintance from her husband's past and they mostly looked like they belonged there.

She kept a careful watch on his dear worn face and observed the lifeblood of hope flow back in as he wandered around the room, counting off his missing memories.

Finally they sat together on the luxurious burgundy patterned carpet that covered the steps of the curving Grand Staircase. They sat beneath the twinkling light of the crystal chandelier, as they'd sat beneath the twinkling light of the stars in another life.

Angela mimicked one of Patrick's wildly extravagant gestures, sweeping her arms to demonstrate, "Take a look around my beautiful Boy Wonder. Your palace is going to be OK. It's sorting itself out on it's own, they're all going back to their places."

He smiled adoringly at her, speechless and captivated.

She always had been right.

"It's because you're getting better Patrick … just be patient. You don't have to do anything, except look after yourself."

"Right as usual. You always were … my better half," his grin was bashful and boyish.

"And let Teresa take care of you … you worry her."

"I know I do."

"So promise me."

"I promise, but there's just one thing."

"You know I don't do deals with conmen, Paddy Jane."

"I really want to see Charlotte again."

"You always were a foolish man," his dead wife laughed. "Don't you realize, you can see us both whenever you want. You know where she is … in the cosy little attic room at the top of the second staircase. You put her there … and you can call on her any time."

… _yes … I always was a fool … _

They sat for a little while and watched the memories reorganizing themselves.

Jane saw that lumpy, grumpy cop, Hannigan, the one who'd landed such a hefty punch and won him Lisbon's sympathy. He wondered why he'd even given the man space in his precious memory bank.

He smiled at Madeleine Hightower as she walked past, trying to find her comfy chair just outside the door to the ladies powder room. He wanted to catch her attention, thought about running forward to plant a friendly kiss on her cheek. She had called him 'golden'. She had come close to understanding him.

But Patrick could feel that Angela was fading, drifting back to be with her daughter, and he had one more place to visit.

"I have to go to see the basement rooms, I need to see if he's there," he explained to her seriously. "I don't want you to come. It's dark down there."

"Patrick," she smiled tenderly. "I've been with you in all the dark places you've ever been, there's nothing I haven't seen. Remember, I am part of your darkness. Even if he is there. There's nothing he can do to scare me now."

He wanted so very much to touch her.

"I don't want you there."

There was fire and ice and love and hate all twisted in his voice.

"Go back and give Charlotte a kiss for me," he told her.

She knew what she had to do.

"Be careful then."

He closed his eyes tight and whispered,

"I'll always love you …"

She kissed her palm and blew the kiss softly into the air,

"A bientot, my Darling …"

Jane rose and made his way phantom like through the dimly lit corridors behind the public rooms to the narrow stone steps that led to the basement. The door at the bottom was stiff and the hinges rusted. He seldom, if ever, ventured there. Why would he?

A sickly sweet odour of evil and suffocation slid in airy wisps from the narrow crack that widened with the creaking of the ancient hinges. The sweetness was inviting, drawing him in, pulling him down.

Jane felt his senses becoming dull, the shadowy shape of the doorway writhing snake like before his eyes. He blinked. He felt sick and lightheaded; panicky. A spinning whirlpool of claustrophobia was sucking the life out of him.

"Don't struggle Patrick,"

The voice was eerily familiar, too pleasant to be ghoulish, too sinister to be friendly. It slithered like a python and it held him tight.

"Just relax and let the darkness take you my friend … then you won't feel the needle."

* * *

**So that's it guys. What do you think ? **

**Next Chapter might be over a week in coming …. I want to make it a good one , because I'm off to France again after that and I want to keep you happy. **

**A Bientot!**


	18. Tangled up in Red

**I know I haven't disclaimed or anything lately so, just so's you all know … I'm not Bruno secretly masquerading as a fangirl, so I don't own The Mentalist.**

**I think I replied to all my reviewers but I'd really love to give each and every one of you a big PJ hug for the amazing response to the last chapter … hope I can continue to make you smile …**

* * *

At a few minutes past four that afternoon Grace vanPelt turned the key in the front door of Teresa Lisbon's Sacramento apartment.

"Jane," she called softly, in case he might be sleeping.

It was obvious he wasn't there. No telltale hint of tea lingered fragrantly in the air. No snoozing consultant lay on the couch. No grumpy former psychic sat glowering from the window at the cars below. No wheelchair.

No Jane.

Just a piece of scruffy paper torn from a shorthand pad, the top edge scalloped by being roughly torn from its wiry binding.

Grace pulled out her cell phone and dialed her boss.

"What's wrong Grace? Is he alright?"

Lisbon wondered why she always jumped to the same conclusion, but she did anyway.

"He's left a note, boss. Says he's 'gone to the park to ponder'. I'm to meet him at the sycamore tree."

"Does he say what time he left? Can you tell if he's taken anything with him?"

"His book's gone, and his phone I think. His tea cup's on the table by the couch with a couple of packets of pills."

"No Thermos flask?" Lisbon asked. "OK, go look in the kitchen. See if the flask's there and if there are any picnic leftovers in the fridge … some chicken, salad and a yogurt."

VanPelt found no flask, no chicken and no yogurt, but plenty of salad and a counter top littered with bread crumbs … he'd made himself a sandwich of some sort.

Lisbon's investigative grey cells whirred busily on the other end of the line.

"So either he had some lunch before he went out and took the flask with him or he's made himself a picnic," she reasoned sensibly until she had a sudden inspiration. "Any plate? Any crumbs on the couch or the coffee table? What about over by the window?"

"No."

"Then he's been out since before lunchtime. That's hours,"

That was when dread started niggling in the pit of her stomach.

… after only a few hours.

Lisbon called Jane's number. It went to voice mail.

She told herself it wasn't unusual for Jane to not pick up; he was probably pre-occupied or simply playing games. Maybe his phone had run out of charge …

She left a message; 'please call me'.

Five minutes later vanPelt tried Jane again. It went straight to voice mail. She reported back to her boss.

Lisbon's mind instantly conjured pictures of her hapless consultant, either haphazardly pushing himself in circles round the park, confused, overtired and wilting, ( she knew he'd been awake during the night) or sitting in a bitter sweet cocoon of nostalgia at the playground, surrounded by groups of admiring mothers and their noisy children.

If only she knew which.

He said he'd be under the big old sycamore tree.

But could he be trusted to stay there?

At shortly before four thirty Lisbon's phone warbled into life.

It wasn't Jane calling her back.

She glared at the useless witness she was still attempting to wring information from and crossed her fingers.

"Boss, I'm at the tree." Grace told her. "I'm pretty sure it's the right one. There's no sign of him. Nothing but some discarded tissues. That can't be him. Jane wouldn't litter."

"Have a good look round Grace. You know what he's like, he's probably wandered off. And when you find him give him a piece of my mind for not picking up."

"OK. I'll keep trying him and I'll get back to you in half an hour if I haven't found him."

X

Half an hour later Lisbon answered her cell again.

"Nothing?"

This time Grace's voice carried a definite note of concern. "I've asked everyone around, nobody's seen him, at least not since early afternoon. He's still not picking up, and Boss ... it's starting to rain."

Lisbon frowned and polished her mother's cross with her fingertips.

"Ok Grace. Now I'm officially worried. I need you to put a trace on his phone … I don't care if he's just late back or gone somewhere random. He should be where he said he'd be and he shouldn't be out in the rain."

She could feel her anger and her anxiety rising in equal measure. Why could he not simply be where he had said he would be? Her physical reaction to her concern for this man was so irrational in it's intensity. She hated herself for it. Her hands and knees quivered, her heart beat unevenly and her mouth went dry.

And it was only a few hours … still only late afternoon.

"Go back and check in case he found his way home while you were gone … and check Rick's. I'll finish up here as soon as I can."

Three more interviews to do, then she'd leave Cho to do the final clear up and debrief the local sheriff. She'd get Rigsby to come straight back with her. They could be back just after eight.

X

At five thirty Wayne Rigsby's cell chirped out the mangled melody of a well known children's nursery rhyme.

"Hey it's me," Van Pelt's worried voice declared. "Is the boss with you?"

"Yeah Grace." Wayne couldn't hide the flush that warmed his cheeks but he kept his tone professional. "We're in the car. She's driving. We just left."

"Ok. Put me on speakerphone."

"Done."

"Boss ? Hi. I couldn't get a trace on Jane's phone. He's gone back to using that old thing he loves so much … do you remember? … he said he didn't like touch screens … called it voodoo … chucked it in the bin. Anyway the old one doesn't have GPS, so unless it's being used it can't be traced."

Lisbon unsuccessfully tried to suppress a groan, instead resorting to giving the wheel a frustrated thump with her fist.

"Voodoo …" she moaned. "Oh, that's rich coming from him … Any thing else?"

"No I'm afraid not. He hasn't been to Rick's. No one there's seen him. And he hasn't turned up at your place. I thought I'd try that convenience store just down the road, maybe he popped in there … I don't think he would have ventured any further, do you? Then I'll try the park again."

"Ok Grace, thank you. I appreciate it. Keep me up to date."

Rigsby ended the call and stowed his cell in his top jacket pocket and Lisbon pulled their vehicle over to the edge of the road.

"Do you mind if you drive the rest of the way," she asked him. "My concentration's wandering."

She slid from her seat without waiting for a response and climbed wearily into the warm passenger seat almost before Rigsby was out of it.

"I'm worried Rigs," she confided. He heard a voice she didn't often allow her team to hear; softer, trusting, more friend in need than boss in charge. "He's been out all afternoon … OK, I know we spent yesterday afternoon in the park, but I did all the pushing. All he had to do was relax … and he slept while we were out … but he was up in the night … awake at four this morning … he said he woke when I left … he'll be exhausted."

She turned her pale, drawn face to her driver for support.

Rigsby looked strong.

He had already thrown the car back onto the highway and was pressing down as hard as he dare on the accelerator.

"I hope it's not still raining," she mumbled.

X

The air pressed down on him like dense warm fog; sticky and oppressive. He could hardly breathe.

He couldn't move. Couldn't open his eyes. Couldn't think.

Didn't know if the voices he was hearing were real or in his head.

"Shouldn't he be awake by now?" The man sounded whiny, agitated.

"Oh be quiet," an impatient female snapped back, clear and confident, a voice just like a thousand other sassy young girls. "It's not that easy you know," she explained icily. "There are variables. I don't know how much he inhaled, or when he last took medication … he might wake any time…or he might not … these things interact … "

A man and a girl … he felt their presence looming over him, solid shapes compressing the space around him, but the sound of their voices distant, spectral, otherworldly … floating around him just out of reach.

The man complained again.

Jane could hear him vaguely; moving about behind him, shuffling and nervous, all fear and impotence, "But he's been under far too long, the Master said he needs him alert, he doesn't have much time …before they come looking …"

"Oh, OK then," she sounded exasperated. " … when he starts to stir I'll give him something to get him going, but don't blame me if …"

"The Master said …" the obsequious man grizzled.

"Alright. I'll do it now. Call him," she ordered. "Tell him we're ready."

Jane heard fumbling and disgruntled muttering and fragments of muffled conversation, before a hand grasped his arm with practiced assurance and gently pushed back his unbuttoned shirtsleeve, it felt hot and soft and commanding and oddly comforting.

The needle stung; a waspish shock.

"Come on Patrick."

Her voice sang brightly, clearer and louder, higher and glassier and stiletto sharp, as the chemical buzz sped like acid through the veins of his leaden limbs, and sizzled into his organs and dazzled his sluggish senses with glaring neon sparks.

"Time to wake up."

Jane felt a finger lift his eyelid, then a hand that now seemed cold gripped his burning wrist and held it suspended, fingers monitoring his pulse as it began to thump and skitter from virtual hibernation into overdrive.

"Angela …" he murmured, his voice still faint and sleepy and not his own.

Confused and scared, he shook his head violently from side to side to banish the overpowering sensation of tumbling out of control in the effervescent whirlpool of the world's giant washing machine. He clamped his eyes tight shut to block out the blinding hypersensitivity to the light that wasn't there … tried desperately to crawl back through the creaky basement door and up the cold stone stairs … to the security of his most cherished memories … of her calm commonsense … her love…

"Angela …" he slurred weakly, more in hope than expectation, "… still there …?"

"Huh …she's long gone Patrick."

The girl's tone was cutting and smug and condescending, she held his shoulders with firm authority. He writhed and thrashed in adrenal panic. The instinct to fight or flee took hold of him. She held him down tight til his fury died.

From where she stood behind him, he could feel the damp clamminess of her breath against his neck. Her saccharine voice filled him with irrational dread. It made him try to squirm all the more, but the drugs sapped his will.

"Don't you remember?" the too bright voice scoffed. "It's been over ten years now … and you still can't let her go? How sweet."

And Angela wasn't there.

But reality was.

He opened his eyes.

The room was small, damp and chilly, and poorly lit by an orangey light somewhere in the back left corner. He seemed to be sitting in the middle of an almost empty space, with nothing in the dingy gloom but a vast greenish roll up door in front of him and overbearing threat behind him. It must have been an unused garage.

All he could hear now was breathing; the girl's, calm and strong, the man's, nervy and faster, and his own, erratic, jerky and shallow, reflecting the arrhythmia of his heart as it struggled against chemical imbalance.

The young woman placed two fingers on his neck, he jumped reflexively, pulse beating rapidly and visibly in his temple in response her cool touch, "You need to calm down Patrick," she ordered. "My friend will be here soon. I don't want him to be displeased."

Jane battled to think coherently through the spinning energy and electrifying fizz that had started to cut through his deep sedation, tipping him into exaggerated awareness; bombarding him with randomly ludicrous thoughts, heightening bizarre sensations.

And there was something about the woman's touch.

"Do I know you?"

He succeeded in sounding collected. Better to choose words with care or say nothing at all.

"We know you," he heard his captors chorus in malevolent unison.

His mind conjured technicolour images of two faces exchanging grinning satisfaction. Blank canvasses and empty souls wearing grinning red smiles.

"Who is this friend you don't want to displease?" Jane asked politely. Like he was asking the time of day.

His question needed no forethought, and no answer. But he asked it anyway.

It was a sickening feeling … that echoing déjà vu.

Never any easier.

Only his reaction more skillfully disguised.

With practice.

Over years.

"Why Patrick, can't you guess?"

It _was_ him.

It was the voice he had never consciously allowed space in his memory palace because it already haunted his every waking moment; an echo of depravity that crept out from the shadowy recesses of the dank room and sent a shiver through his hardened core.

It still hurt … it always hurt.

His heart forgot to beat and he had to gulp in air through sore lungs to fight off faintness.

…_must appear strong …_

… _again …_

… _always …_

"Wh…why … why am I here?"

Jane could only try not to sound pathetic, defeated.

Red John's answer was a laugh.

It was something less than human, a bestial cackle, a beast reveling in the suffering of it's pray, but this terrifying sound was the call of nature's most deadly combination; animal savagery directed by warped human intellect. It came from way down in Satan's belly.

Then the beast spoke with a tongue that iced it's words with toxic sweetness, like a sugary coating on the bitterest pill.

"I got bored Patrick," he said. "I brought you here because I miss you. You and your hilarious, trivial little games. Simple as that. So I thought I'd check on your condition for myself, make sure you understand how important your recovery is to me. You'll be pleased to know, I'm sure, that ridiculous though your game playing is, you still amuse me. I need some amusement in my life. A challenge."

Red John sniggered again from the darkness behind Jane's chair.

"_Is_ all this a game to you Patrick? It's more than that to me. … Oh yes, that's right you told Tim Carter it was just a hobby. Did you mean like stamp collecting? I'm offended you don't take me more seriously after all the work I've done."

He moved closer and Jane's body seized into a protective clench as he sensed the man's creeping proximity, its warmth invading his space, sidling through cracks in the fragile barrier he fought to maintain.

Red John stilled for a moment then drew in a noisy breath that hissed past his teeth, he thrust his head close to Jane's so that his outward breath blew hot and acrid on his cheek.

"That's a nasty blemish you have there my friend. I do hope you won't be permanently disfigured."

The foul smell of the killer's sugary breath on his face made Jane heave and clutch his hand to his mouth to hold back the rising bile of fear. The bile brought with it gut wrenching spasms of coughing that left him sweating and panting helplessly.

"Are you having trouble breathing Patrick? Perhaps some water for our friend my dear." The man addressed his woman smoothly.

A perfectly manicured set of red nails instantly delivered a bottle to his lips. Had it been poison he would still have drunk. He felt so unbearably hot.

Red John continued unperturbed, triumphantly relishing his captive's distress, gloating as his female assistant provided relief.

"Yes I got bored waiting for you to get back on your feet," he gleefully told the helpless man. "When will that be?" he mocked. "…Oh yes … months. What a shame. But I see you consider yourself fit enough to be taking a little constitutional in the park on your own … good that you appreciate a bit of God's fresh air … or is your brain still a little addled … I mean should you be out and about?"

Jane didn't move. Didn't flinch. Just worked on breathing. Just worked on staying calm.

…_don't react…not a word …_

…_don't talk to him … just listen … gather clues… find what makes him tick …to use against him…_

…_patience…_

…_everything comes to he who waits …_

…_but you're so drugged up …_

Red John leant closer still and continued to breathe out his monologue in streams of discordant mockery that stole the oxygen away from Jane's lungs and heart, pulling the life force inexorably from his body.

"What's wrong Patrick? Flagging a little?"

The man turned and spoke with supercilious venom to his quiet confederates.

"What did you give our esteemed guest? I was hoping to have an enlightening exchange of views with him. Patrick is a very interesting and intelligent man, _you_ seem to have presented me with a zombie."

"I didn't dare give him much more," the girl admitted meekly, boldness dissolving, replaced by fear. "It's dangerous … and if you want him sedated again for the walk back…"

Red John's anger spoke in steeliness and scorn.

"Just pep him up a bit more," he snarled, "Do you think I care? … as long as you don't kill him."

Jane's sleeve was pulled aside again and the needle jabbed into his arm more roughly this second time.

Again the fire raced through his system and his muscles began to twitch and his brain snap against his skull with powerful jolts of electric intensity.

The anonymous man, who had been standing silently, suddenly stepped forward and slapped him twice hard around the face with his open hand. Jane's fists and eyes screwed tight shut and his teeth clamped hard, but he never squealed when Halloween's ghoulish nightmare came crashing into his head with all the crackling fluorescence of fireworks on the fourth of July.

Red John stood to one side and gloated quietly as the girl kept a watchful eye on Jane's condition.

His heart gradually settled from whirling dervish, through a stuttering fandango, to a rhythm somewhat akin to a halting argentine tango.

At last the woman seemed satisfied with his pulse and the reaction of his eyes when she lifted their puffy lids, even though Jane was conscious of little more than the extremes of sensibility. He was hot, cold, exhausted, buzzing, confused, focused, terrified and panicky, but surreally calm and absolutely determined.

The serial killer was ready to resume their dialogue.

He peered deep into Jane's pale flickering eyes and Jane did his utmost to stare steadfastly back.

"Yes, Patrick," the man's greasy voice oozed, really finding it's rhythm now. "I got bored … thought it was time we had that little chat we promised ourselves."

He paused menacingly.

"Oh! I forgot, you didn't promise did you, but I'm sure you'll find something to say … you always do! That's always been your trouble hasn't it? You just don't know when to shut your grubby little mouth."

He paused again.

"What still nothing to say Patrick? Oh, I've never asked …you don't mind my calling you Patrick do you?"

Jane's refusal was conveyed in the cold, disdainful hatred in his eyes.

"Very well then. I'm disappointed but I can't say I'm surprised. I'll talk then shall I? Do you recall the topic I proposed?"

Red John laughed.

And Jane cringed.

"Women." Red John announced, curling his tongue around the word as though it were his favourite weapon. "That's the topic … or more to the point your approach to women, … although I am beginning to think that recent events may have provoked a change in direction that may move me to reassess my attitude."

He tapped a boney fingertip thoughtfully on his bottom lip; a jeering parody to turn the screw; _see how closely I observe you…_

"You see, I've long been unhappy with your inability to give of yourself to your women. Oh, you make a big show of rings and flowers, houses and dinners, grand gestures and sentimental trifles, but did you ever give as much as you got from them? No Patrick, you just sublimate your women with grandiose promises that you'll protect them, don't you? You think that's a fitting substitute for giving them your trust and your heart."

Red John took a step back to let his victim stew in the potential truth of his accusations.

Jane said nothing.

He was trying to think.

He was trying to think of how he could have loved his wife with any more of his heart than he always had. And the guilt was overwhelming. He knew his whole heart had been hers but he still hadn't been able to sacrifice that one thing for her … and it had killed her … and his innocent, precious daughter.

Red John took his verbal dagger and thrust its tip deep in between his victim's ribs and he smiled when he felt the cold steel pierce Patrick Jane's atrophied heart.

"You're all empty promises aren't you?" he stabbed. "You promised to protect your wife didn't you … and you couldn't. Because you wouldn't give her everything. You wouldn't make that one last sacrifice … your glittering career. That's all it would have taken … and we would never have met.

It's been the same ever since, hasn't it? All those women who've shown interest in you along the way, you've used them, not taken them seriously.

Let's see … Kristina Frye; you were never more than intrigued by her … merely an inviting little game of psychic baiting, to make yourself feel better, or did she really make you wonder? … but you let her invest herself in you, become attached, and she sacrificed herself to _me_.

Then there was Erica Flynn; you let her convince you thatyou were interested and for a moment you were, but she murdered her husband and that would never do would it ? … so _she_ ended up using _you_, made you look a fool… and how does that feel ?

And now we come to the whole Las Vegas triangle. I must say I found that most amusing. At one point I thought Lorelei had won you over. I have to salute your very fine acting skills and determination Patrick, you really had me thinking we could become partners … until your charming little reunion with Teresa in the house of God. What did she call you? … son of a bitch … did she say she hated you? That was tantamount to blasphemy. Honestly … I was embarrassed for you. But they do say love and hate are two sides of the same coin, don't they? Then, of course, you had to follow it up with the heartwarming love scene in Ms. Lisbon's office. Did you rehearse that? No? I thought not … little bit in love with her, aren't you?"

Jane continued to focus his eyes on the shadowy face in front of him, trying at once to garner clues in the killer's speech patterns, voice and features. But it was too dark, his eyes wouldn't stay still, his head pounded and swam, his legs ached incessantly, his skin burned and his mind kept drifting and bombarding him with retorts and responses which he knew instinctively his tongue wouldn't successfully form into lucid words.

…_don't dignify those accusations with answers … he's the killer … that's what Lisbon would say …_

…_stay strong …_

"You thought you had won Lorelei over didn't you? You thought you could use her against me and yet you lost again. You tried to help her gain her revenge and she ended up betraying me _and_ you. What a foolish girl Patrick. You both lost in the end. Doesn't that make you feel guilty? And doesn't it make you think about your partner more carefully now?"

Jane's blood boiled in veins as he listened to that word slip so easily from the killer's lips.

… _bastard… don't call her that … it's special … new …my partner …no one knows …_

He fought against his rage.

Didn't take the bait.

"Oh yes, I know you've come to a fork in your road and it's getting harder and harder to know which path to take. So let me give you a hint Patrick, some advice to take away with you. You've never given yourself completely to a woman. Do that now while you have the chance. Choose your feisty little cop over your vengeance and maybe I _will_ let you walk away."

Finally Jane's emotions would no longer be restrained by self discipline and physical weakness.

His hands shook, his eyes bulged and bled burning angry tears and his words spewed out in a mangled high pitched croak that he didn't recognize as his own.

"I vowed to my wife and child that I would kill you, you miserable son of a bitch.

And that's what I will do … or I will die doing it."

He saw the glistening spittle of his ferocity spatter wet over the face of his mortal enemy.

Red John casually wiped his face clean with a smirk and a flourish.

Jane's promise withered in an anguished sob and he felt his body give in to misery for a few precious seconds, then he gathered himself again … and glared into Red John's dead eyes.

… _stay strong … stay strong…_

"Ahhhh … , but that's my whole point Patrick," Red John delivered his belly blow. "You made a vow to yourself …_not _to your family, because of your guilt. And now you're beginning to feel conflicted. You're no longer sure where your loyalties lie … with the lovely Teresa or with your so far fruitless bloodlust. That's why you've redoubled your efforts lately, you're afraid you're running out of steam, vengeance is losing it's allure … you're tiring of the chase and you're becoming comfortable with your woman. She's winning and you're not sure you want her to."

Red John brought his face so near that Jane could almost touch it, too perversely close to focus on , so still invisible, his enemy's identity cruelly hidden by its very adjacency.

The words he recited next sounded as if they came from a different person, he sounded sincere, weary of the battle, ready to resign.

"Listen to me, my friend. Its very tempting to let you prove me wrong, I wish I could believe that you would finally find something bigger than your vendetta against me. Teresa is as close as you have come, if only you could admit just how close, but I fear that you and I both know you are not at that point yet. Choose to commit fully, one way or another, for the first time in your life. Until that time I cannot take the risk that you will ever give up on me for her … so the game must run it's course … no going back … until I see what I need to see. It's up to you Patrick."

Red John let his ultimatum roll around the stuffy room, around Jane's harried brain … it's her or me … the game must run it's course … no going back … choose to commit … it's up to you …

her or me …

Through the fuzzy mess in his over stimulated brain, just before the implosion into submission, there came a few moments of clarity, of certainty …

… _we _will_ win … you and me Teresa …we can't let him win …I choose you …and revenge …as partners…_

Jane spoke quietly, calmly, without looking at Red John.

"You know I won't give up until you're gone. And you know Lisbon wouldn't want me to. I won't give up and if I die trying she will come after you and she will get you."

"What makes you think you might die Patrick, I've told you how much I enjoy our sparring, and have you forgotten why we are playing this game in the first place. Why would you think I would allow you the pleasure of joining your wife and daughter wherever it is you think they are.

No. It's far more satisfying to keep you apart for the time being. Beautiful as it might be to see such a perfect little family together, you lost that privilege years ago. Only some of us get what we deserve, you are one of the few … you had it all and threw it carelessly away. Why would I give them back to you."

"I never lost them John." Jane whispered slowly, making each and every word more meaningful and bright than any threat could ever tarnish. "They are _always_ with me and they _always_ will be. So you will never win."

He allowed his eyes to close out the darkness and bathed himself in soft warm light. His tingling nerves released their tension, let his heart find peace … it didn't matter any more …

… _no fight left …relax …he can't hurt you …_

But Red John was not deterred, even when sorely stung by indomitable faith in justice and life,

the biggest ego always had the last word.

"Be that as it may Patrick, my friend," he always tried to undermine by using that phrase 'my friend'. It only ever served to cement Jane's resolve into an impregnable fortress.

"You're perfectly safe for now anyway, while you're in this pitiful state, you're pathetic, only half an opponent … I have my pride. That's why I've been keeping a watchful eye on you, although I must say it's heartwarming to see you have such loving support. How touching to see the icy Mr Cho tailing you like a suspect, to make sure you made it back to the bosom of your delightful lover yesterday …"

Red John examined Jane's impassive mask, pale under the shadowy amber glow, and was rewarded by an almost imperceptible tightening, a recoiling from the sting of his pricking jibe.

"… or isn't she your lover yet Patrick? … No ? … Why not?..."

He launched his poisoned arrows and let them fly to their target. He smiled into the darkness, confident that he had hit his mark.

Jane let the arrows fly on by and stayed silent, eyes closed.

Red John consoled himself that he had seen enough alleviate his 'boredom'.

The cat had taunted the mouse enough for now.

"Well pleasant though this little chat has been, it's getting late," he said. " … must be dark outside … your friends will be wondering where you are … it's so nice to know they care. I'll have my two associates drop you off somewhere where they can find you."

Jane heard the man's echoing footsteps on the hard concrete as he walked quickly back to instruct his silent assistants.

He spoke loudly, to be sure that Jane could hear. "Put the battery back in his phone and, here, put his beloved little journal back in the bag with his lunchbox."

Red John raised his voice to a singsong of smugness. "It's an amusing, if insubstantial read, Patrick, hardly a work of art though … there's nothing in there I didn't already know, but you have some interesting ideas."

He lowered his voice again to address the girl, "Top up Patrick's medication will you Lucinda dear, we wouldn't want him causing a scene in the street would we. You know where to take him don't you. Make sure you aren't seen."

Jane let the rest of his enemy's words flutter past his ears unheard. There were more footsteps and the metallic clang of a door closing behind him.

Relief was blessed. It didn't matter who else was in his dank little prison. Jane couldn't have cared less. The thick blanket of malevolence was no longer there to suffocate him, it drifted away into the gathering gloom of dusk when Red John made his exit.

He only felt tired and tingly and nervy and very, very weird.

His skin was burning but his core was shivering and when he felt her touch his forehead and stroke her other hand along his arm he was sure it was the crawling feet of hundreds of tiny insects creeping over his body.

He caught the subtle hint of a floral scent, reminiscent of one he'd smelt recently, very pleasant,

like a spring garden.

Hyacinths and narcissus.

"I'm so sorry Patrick," her voice was quietly angelic now, with the merest hint of sorrow. "I only do what I'm told."

The insects crawled up under his shirtsleeve and the waspish needle stung again.

"You have to go to sleep now. When you wake up you'll be in the park. Your friends will find you there."

* * *

**Well that was a heavy one! Red John sure does love to lecture doesn't he? **

**I'm not entirely happy with it, but it was necessary to the story, and should lead to better things.**

**I hope I haven't bored you too much.**

**Next installment will be in about three weeks … France calls **


End file.
